Chameleon Fever
by konarciq
Summary: Big shot resistance leader Oskar Danzig - the Master of Disguises and Germany's nr. 1 female impersonator - does not come into the series until late in the final season. But are you *really* sure we haven't seen him before? Chapter 31: Preparations.
1. Shot

**CHAMELEON FEVER  
**

.

**_The Story of Oskar Danzig_**

**_Master of Disguises, Famous (Female) Impersonator _**

**_& Esteemed Leader of the Underground_  
**

.

A lonely car wound its way through the countryside south of Hamelburg. The headlights were dimmed, conform the regulations. Behind the wheel sat a thirtyish young man with a brown fringe, his leather cap drawn down over his eyes. A faint smile played around his lips.

"If only you knew, Colonel Hogan," he chuckled quietly. "If only you_ knew_ how many times we have met without you realizing it was me in disguise. I´d just love to see your face when you find out!"

A slight sigh. It would have to wait. Till the war was over. How much longer? He _had_ to get the information on those panzer divisions! Their immobilizing could mean a great advantage for the Allies; he _had_ to get the information! He hoped, he really prayed that Colonel Hogan had managed to find out...

Another curve, and as the car turned into the bare winterwoods he felt a chill going down his spine. He tensed instantly. Danger?

There was no sign of it though. The woodland lay deserted – at least it appeared to be. If everything went according to plan, his ally slash enemy Colonel Hogan would be here. And perhaps some of his men as well.

Well, quick in, quick out then. They could have their revealing tea-party after the war.

Some twenty meters ahead of him a light flashed from among the trees. Gestapo, or...? No, it was Hogan´s sign. Quickly he answered by flashing his headlights; then he steered the car to the side of the road.

Cautiously, ready to run, he climbed out of the car. "Colonel Hogan?" He knew his English was terribly accented, even though his understanding of the language had improved tremendously since he had been assigned to the camp.

A few figures raised from the bushes. Blimey (a funny sounding curse he had picked up from the English prisoners), they were all here: the colonel, the little Frenchman, friendly young Carter, the young black sergeant, and that pain-in-the-neck Newkirk.

"Danzig!" Hogan approached him; he, too, came closer.

"I was expecting someone with high heels and a tight girdle," Hogan greeted him in a teasing tone.

Oskar Danzig held his eyes. "One does not wear one´s disguises when they are no longer disguises." Thank goodness, that came out pretty well, if he may say so himself. Those tongue-twisting English passwords sometimes took him hours of practice before he could somewhat master their pronunciation.

A slight nod from Hogan; the necessary recognition codes over with, he cut down to business immediately. He took out a folded piece of paper: "Here are the troop movements and locations of five panzer divisions."

Danzig looked up in surprise as he took the paper from him. "This is more than I expected! Good work! We are very grateful to all of you."

A quick smile from the American. "Good luck!"

A last nod, and Oskar Danzig turned back to the car.

At that moment the silent woods turned to hell. From across the road shouting was heard. In a flash, Danzig saw black uniforms appear, half a dozen or more. He didn´t wait to count them; with this information on him, there was but one thing to do: get the hell out of here!

He jumped behind the wheel and sped off before he had even closed the door properly.

More shouting. Orders being barked. Machineguns firing. A quick prayer that Hogan and his men would evade capture. And that those Gestapo guys wouldn´t hit his gas-tank or his tires. Another hundred meters or so, and he´d...

With a crash the rear windshield shattered to pieces, and he gasped as at that same moment a fiery punch hit his back. Had he been hit?

"Keep going!" he told himself. It wasn´t easy, but he forced himself to concentrate on the road. First he had to get to safety, then he could worry about being hit. The information he carried was far too important. And far too dangerous for him to fall into the hands of the Gestapo...

But man, it hurt. The fiery spot just under his right shoulder-blade burnt with even the slightest movement. He bit his lip in a desperate effort not to cry out. For there was the curve in the road; the curve that would save him for now: he would at least be out of range there. Just keep the car on the road...

He dug his teeth even deeper in his flesh. The curve coming up. The machine gun firing still flashed around him, occasionally hitting some part of the car with a sharp clang, but apparently never doing any real damage.

Groaning with the effort he turned the wheel. He wanted to close his eyes in agony, but he knew all too well that he couldn´t. But at least – at least he was out of range from those Gestapo-guns now...

He let go of a breath he hadn´t been aware that he´d been holding. It hissed through his clenched teeth as the slight movement of relaxing the muscles of his lungs mercilessly tore at the wound. Mein Gott, how it hurt... He had been hit before – plain fleshwounds, in his arm and his shoulder. But those times had been a walk in the park compared to this infernally burning pain. He wanted to cringe, to curl up, to just hold the spot and close his eyes till the pain would subside...

But he couldn´t. He had to focus on the road, on the car. On the information he was carrying. He wasn´t safe yet – as if he had been really safe for even a split second ever since this all started. He may be out of range from those Gestapo Lugers, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn´t come after him. Or that others wouldn´t stop him on the way. He _had_ to go on, to get to some resemblance of safety. To get this information off to Düsseldorf, before it was too late. He could take the pain. He just _had_ to.

"Concentrate on the road," he told himself over and over again. "Just concentrate on the road. You can do it. You´ve been hit before. Just concentrate on the road."

But cold sweat kept dripping from under his cap, impairing his vision since he didn´t dare to make the necessary movement to wipe it away.

Something tickly kept trickling down his back, too. Blood? His shirt was soaked anyway, either with blood or with sweat. Or both. He tasted blood in his mouth as well; he was probably biting his lip to shrapnel. But he had to, in order not to scream. Or worse: not to pass out. For he was feeling rather faint by now; it was just the adrenalin that kept him going. But every bump in the uneven track made him grumble with pain; every turn of the road was another attack on the torn flesh just below the shoulder-blade.

At least it seemed no one was coming after him; perhaps they didn´t have a car. Which meant they probably went after Hogan and his men. Bad enough in itself, but he couldn´t afford the luxury of worrying about them now. First he´d have to get himself and Hogan´s information to relative safety; then...

Thank God, there was the main road. In case they were pursuing him after all, the paved street would make it pretty much impossible to follow his tracks the way they could in the woods.

"Hold on, Karl," he told himself when he had regained his breath after the sharp turn onto the Flenzheimer Straße. "A few more kilometers and you´ll have made it."

Carefully he took a deep breath. No cars in sight. Time to... He braced himself for the hot flash of pain he was surely heading into. Then: easy on the brakes, a quick spin of the steering-wheel, and within moments the car headed back towards Hamelburg. Traces would be minimal, and if indeed they were after him, they´d probably – hopefully – continue towards Flenzheim instead. Now all he had to do was putting some unobtrusive speed into...

He couldn´t. He was still struggling for breath after that last maneuver, and bright coloured spots kept dancing in front of his eyes.

"Come on, you can do it!" he told himself through clenched teeth.

But there was no way he could speed the car home. His sight was dimmed somehow, and troubled by lightflashes and frantically dancing dots. And with the pain now throbbing through his entire chest, he couldn´t possibly concentrate on anything save for holding out. It would be suicide to drive quickly in this condition. And as long as there seemed to be no pursuit, he´d rather not die in a car-accident. Not when he´d been endangering his life for years in fighting the nazis. Not when the end was so near...

So, constantly grumbling and gritting his teeth, he slowly drove the car towards the abandoned farmhouse that the local underground had been using for a base these past months. And whenever the pain became really unbearable, on this rather well-kept road he could occasionally squeeze his eyes shut – if only for a moment.

And there – finally – was the treestump marking the turnoff. A little sigh of relief. There would be friends waiting here. Less than a kilometer to go. He could do it; he could!

He moaned openly with the effort of turning into the lane. Just a few more minutes, and he´d...

There was the house: an even darker shadow in the dark landscape. The threshing-floor, the barn...

He stopped the car and finally allowed his left hand to wipe his face. He made it. Home.

Slowly, very slowly, he managed to open the door. A growl at the sudden tearing flash of pain as he climbed out. Close the door, catch your breath... Unsteadily he staggered towards the door. Dimly he noticed it being opened. A blond woman peered out in the dark, whispering: "Who is there?"

He groaned in reply. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was a certain phrase – another one of those terrible tongue-twisters – he had to say in return. But his brain was so shattered by the now infernal pain that he could not possibly recall his line.

"Maryse," was all he remembered as he staggered closer. "Maryse, I´ve been..."

The last thing he noticed were her eyes growing wide in realization.

Then he fainted in her arms.

* * *

"Little Red Ridinghood calling Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear."

Slowly he opened his eyes. Where was he?

Papa Bear... Ridinghood... He tried to focus on the girl at the radio. She looked nice; yes, she could be Little Red Ridinghood. And that brown bulky form bending down over her, would that be the big bad wolf? Then he had to stop the ravenous beast, before it would eat the lovely little girl! He...!

He tried to get up, but with a gasp he sank back on the sofa. And as a wave of the forgotten throbbing pain seared through his body, he was still vaguely aware of the bulky bad wolf now bending down over him instead. The beast uttered some worried sounds; its voice sounded familiar. Had he ever met the big bad wolf?

His survival instinct got the better of the pain for a moment, and cautiously he peered through his eyelashes. Was he about to be eaten, or...?

A mental sigh of relief as he closed his eyes again. It wasn´t some big bad wolf. He was home... No, at the underground´s hide-out, and it was Karl bending down over him.

No, wait a minute... _he_ was Karl.

Wasn´t he?


	2. Home

But home... That was far away. Long ago. The little apartment in the labourer´s district of Viersen. In his memories, every inch of it was crowded with females: his mother, his sisters...

He had never known his father. The man had been an officer in the Kaiser´s army, and he had been killed in one of the first battles of the Great War. His mother got the news while praying for her husband to be able to come home for the birth of this little straggler. Which could be any day now. Upon receiving the distressing news she had gone straight into labour, and little Karl Jr. was born a semi-orphan.

At first, the blow had paralyzed his mother, and the task fell to his many sisters – he had eleven of them, ranging from the age of six to twenty-two at the time of his birth – to take care of the family´s newborn son and heir. And they all adored their little baby-brother. Of course, when his mother recovered, she took over the task of raising him, but she couldn´t quite put an end to her daughters´ fussing over him as well. So in fact he grew up with no less than twelve mothers and no father figure at all.

Had times been better, all their attention might easily have spoiled him rotten. But without a man´s income, the fatherless family was soon forced to scale down from the respectable middle-classes to the poorer living conditions of the labourer´s. His mother and many of his sisters had to take on jobs: as seamstresses, as maids, even as operatives in the nearby factory. As far back as he remembered, they were always out working for most of the day. And despite their long working hours, there had always been worry about money.

Times were dark. The Great War ended when he was four years old, but general poverty continued to haunt the once so rich and proud German nation. As it did their family. One by one, his sisters got married. But they had enough trouble to keep their own new families properly fed, without having to help their mother and younger siblings – even though they did whenever they could. So he, too, had started with odd jobs in the factory as soon as he had been old enough. It was actually kind of fun together with the other boys there.

But his mother refused to have him work there full-time, like most of his newfound friends. Instead, she insisted he´d go to school, to learn and to study; to hopefully resume the proper family-standing in society one day. And whenever he complained about the tediousness of school and studying, she always said she owed his dear father that much.

She knew all too well that referring to his father would silence her only son. She loved the boy so much... It was the last gift, the most beautiful gift she had gotten from her dear husband, and she simply wanted all the best for him. Even a really good school, though she could scarcely afford it. She dreamt about him attending the gymnasium as he should have had his father still been alive. Perhaps he´d continue with the military academy next, and follow in his father´s footsteps. Or perhaps he´d go on to university, and become a respected member of the upper scientific circles.

But as it often goes, young Karl had other plans for the future. Realizing as he grew into a teenager how dark and somber the world around him was, he set his cap for cheering up people. To make them laugh. To make them forget their troubles – if only for a little while. He seriously wanted to be a comedian.

He knew he could do it. He even knew he was pretty good at it. His imitations of other people were unequalled; were it his mother´s pouring tea, his sister´s applying make-up for a scarce date with her fiancé, the foreman´s bullying in the factory, or the teacher´s glare at a troublemaker, he could mimic them all.

He could watch one of his sisters preparing dinner, and then mimic all her moves, her gestures and facial expressions to perfection. But when _he_ did it, the whole room would cry for laughing. He could mimic another sister´s greeting her fiancé, proudly parading for him before throwing herself in his arms. He could mimic the charity ladies striding through the alleys, mindful of the dirty neighbourhood they were visiting. He could mimic the drunken clowns coming home from the pub on Saturday nights. He could mimic the minister´s serene condescension when he was visiting the sick. To his classmates´ ultimate joy he could give a magnificent imitation of every teacher in the school. He could mimic his sisters doing their hair and getting dressed. He could mimic their occasional bitching and bickering. He could mimic the way they looked, listened, sat, stood, walked, moved, ran, ate, drank, slept, sighed, talked, cried, laughed, flirted, brushed their teeth... Yes. With eleven sisters, he had had ample opportunities to study the behaviour of especially the opposite sex – whether it had been done consciously or not.

At home his imitations were always good for a laugh – though the sister in question sometimes got plain mad with him. But his most avid admirer had been Peter, his friend from school. "Just give that guy a different hat and he _is_ someone else," Peter used to say.

Peter. His comrade in pranks, his best friend ever since their first day at school.

Peter. The bet that had turned his life upside down.

Peter, you bastard... It was all _your_ fault, you know that?

Peter, where are you?

* * *

Cool, carefully probing fingers touched his burning skin. He moaned. "Peter..."

"Mein Herr, I´m going to have to remove the bullet. It´s already half through the skin of your chest. The bullet probably grazed the lung as well. But my greatest worry now is how badly infected the wound is."

"We noticed," a clear female voice said. "We´ve already sent for penicilline."

"Penicilline? What is that?" the doctor´s voice asked sharply. Yes, the way he talked about his injuries, he was probably a doctor.

A short, awkward pause. "A kind of miracle drug that cleans up infections. Far quicker than sulfate. Our... our contacts know how to get hold of it. It can save lives."

"Aha." Another silence. "Well, call me when it arrives and I will see what I can do. In the meantime, try and keep his temperature down. Even if the bullet didn´t kill him, this infection and the fever still may. Well, let´s get on with it. Do you have water here? Clean water?"

Again the cool probing fingers. A moan welled up.

"Bitte, Herr Doktor, do what you can to save him...? We don´t want to lose our friend..."

We don´t want to lose our friend...

Peter.

Where are you, Peter?

Are the rumours true? Have you been killed? Peter!

"He´s ailing," a voice said from far away. "This could get really bad..."


	3. Sacrifice

"Peter, you´re nuts!"

"No, I´m not. Why should the ladies have the opportunity of making money at having fun, and men should not? Here. Try this on." He placed a blond wig with long flowing hair on his friend´s head. "Perfect!"

But Karl pulled it off right away. "No way. I will not parade around as a woman in front of a public."

"You do it all the time! Since when do you suffer from stagefright?"

"Yes, at home! Or at school! But that´s different! I´ve never even played a woman in the school plays!"

"Then it´s about time you did. You´re magnificent at it, and you know it."

"Perhaps. But I will not go parading around as a sexy lady in a bar."

Peter – the tall, well-grown, broad shouldered Peter Zagarov – placed his hands on his skinny friend´s shoulders. "Look. You want to go to this all important football-game, don´t you? Our Viersen FV against FC Köln for the Landsmeisterschaft."

Karl nodded hesitantly. "It would be great if we could go."

"Exactly. But we don´t have the money to travel to Köln, and our parents are never going to _give_ us the money either. So we have to find another way to raise the money for the train within two weeks."

"You mean you want _me_ to raise that money," Karl corrected him sharply.

"I´ll come with you. As your agent, or your bodyguard or whatever. They´re never going to believe that _I_ am a woman!"

"But to sort of sell myself as a slut..."

"Not a slut, a seductive dancer! Look," Peter sighed. "I´ll make you a deal. If you go out there and do your act, I´ll do your English homework for a month."

"Two months," Karl bargained – the languages were by far his weakest point. "And my Latin translations as well."

"Agreed."

"And if they recognize me..."

"They won´t."

"... you´ll do all my homework for a year!" Karl groaned. "Oh man, that would be embarrassing..."

"Don´t worry, they won´t recognize you. We´ll simply give you the works: make-up and everything."

xxx

That Saturday after school, Karl went home with Peter. He had told his mother he was going to sleep over, so she wouldn´t notice in case they´d get back awfully late. Neither of them had ever really been to a bar at night, so it was all a bit of a gamble.

Both Peter´s parents were engaged in theaterwork: his Russian father as a director, his mother as an actress. Which meant not only that they would be out of the house for the evening, but also that there was a huge chest in the house filled with what Peter called ´play-clothes´.

But first: "You´d better shave your legs," Peter pointed out.

Karl grimaced. "Yuk. Do I have to?"

"Ever seen a seductive lady with fluff on her legs?"

With that ordeal over (they had shaved off the beginning moustache on Karl´s upper lip as well of course) it was time to get dressed. Peter dug through the multitude of clothes and attributes in the chest, and came up with a gazy blouse, a frilly bra, a handbag, fake nylon boobs, a pair of white gloves, a wide ladies´ coat, a pair of black lace suspenders, a corset, and a shockingly short skirt.

"You brought your sister´s tights and high heels?"

"Yes..." Seeing the pile of shamefully sexy woman´s garments, Karl was getting more and more doubts about their escapade again.

"Well, go ahead. Get dressed."

Karl gulped. "I don´t know, Peter. I don´t think I can go through with this. It´s so... so..."

"You´re just shivering on the brink. Come on, I´ll give you a hand with the tacky stuff."

After pinning the wig with the long blond hair in place and a cooperative make-up session with Frau Zagarovna´s supplies, Peter whistled. "I wouldn´t mind having you for a girl-friend myself!" he said with clear admiration in his voice.

"Shut up." Karl studied himself in the large mirror. A tiny smile played around his painted lips. "It´s good, isn´t it?" he said with a touch of pride in his voice.

"It´s perfect!" Peter nodded at his friend´s reflection.

xxx

"Give me an arm," Peter hissed as they walked down the street. "Now remember: you´re my cousin Katinka Kordeva from Russia. Just throw in your Russian accent bit here and there and they´ll believe it."

His "Russian accent bit" meant talking German with rolling R´s and heavy L´s, plus a few words and phrases he had picked up from his friend over the years. He would never convince a Russian – Peter´s father always snickered – but the guys at school figured he sounded pretty Russian when he talked like that.

An appreciative whistle interrupted his train of thoughts. "Hey, Peter! You got yourself a nice little girlie there! Would you mind introducing us?"

Started, the couple turned around, and saw two of their classmates coming towards them.

"Keep cool," Peter whispered before greeting the boys: "Hi guys. How´s it going?"

"Fine." Both Thomas and Aschwin let their eyes stealthily wander over the pretty young lady at Peter´s side. Karl felt he was turning as red as a lobster under all Frau Zagarovna´s make-up.

But Peter had already continued the conversation. "Katinka, may I present two of my classmates: Aschwin Möller and Thomas Neumann. Thomas, Aschwin, this is my cousin, Katinka Kordeva, from Russia."

"Pleased to meet you," Thomas mumbled. He could hardly keep his eyes off her.

"Does she speak German?" Aschwin inquired eagerly.

Karl refound the use of his tongue. "Naturrllik," with a voice just a fraction higher than his own.

They kept talking for a few minutes, and "Katinka" was exuberant in her praise of "zis nice llittlle villllage". But when they finally parted, she sighed very unfemininely: "Boy am I glad they didn´t recognize me..."

Peter grinned. "See you can do it? If you can fool your own classmates, you can fool anyone. Now, come on, to the bar."

xxx

Confidently Peter opened the door, and a smother of smoke, stale beer and male voices sought its way out. Karl-Katinka hid behind his back, but as soon as they were inside, something clicked in his mind and with a sudden confidence Katinka stepped up beside him.

"A nice llitlle pllace, Peterr."

Peter grinned. "I told you you would like it."

Katinka looked around appreciatively, winking at some of the men staring at her long legs. She was the only woman in the room, and thus instantly monopolizing everyone´s attention.

"Come on." Peter guided her to the bar, where a bald, round bartender gazed at her with equal interest as his customers.

"Good day," Peter greeted him with perfect nonchalance. He sat down on a stool and ordered a beer. "What would you like, Katinka?"

"Orrange juice, pllease." Katinka, too, maneuvered herself onto one of those impractical high stools.

The bartender visibly shook himself and prepared the order. And when he placed the glasses in front of them – without taking his eyes off the pretty lady – Peter bent over to him and asked quietly: "Hey mate, my friend here would like to dance in revues. Would you mind if she´d try out her act on the guys here?"

A happy, expectant smile in Katinka´s direction. "Of course I don´t mind," the bartender replied. "I´m sure the men will enjoy a lady dancing for them."

"If you could organize some music then?"

"Sure. Johann! Music for the lady, bitte!"

Somewhere in a far corner someone started playing a piano. Assisted by her friend, Katinka slowly and seductively shrugged out of her coat, and then slid graciously off the stool. A few dance-steps, a little waving with the short skirt, an enigmatic smile and a lot of fluttering with her long eyelashes, and the men around her clapped and whistled appreciatively to encourage her to continue.

So she went around between the tables with swaying hips, stretching out an elegant arm here, and blowing an occasional handkiss there, all the time gazing into the men´s eyes with a slight smile that promised all kinds of naughty things. Within minutes she was helped up on a table, and with a couple of dozen men crowding around her, reaching out to touch this seductive dream, Katinka Kordeva went into her dance routine. The men whistled and cheered, and when she finally decided it was enough, practically every male in her audience reached in his pocket and slipped some money into her hands, her shoes, her waist-band, and one or two daring ones managed to slip a banknote into her shirt.

"Please continue!" was their general plea.

Katinka raised her eyebrows to two perfect little arches at her friend Peter at the bar. He nodded back, a contented smile playing around his lips. And Katinka Kordeva continued.

The bartender motioned Peter to come closer. "Do you think she could come again next week? It would sure drum up some extra business for me. I´m willing to pay her five marks a night if she´ll agree to come and dance here on a regular basis. She´s good!"

Peter swallowed. Five marks was a lot of money. But next week?! They wouldn´t be able to go to the football-game in Köln if he´d agree to have Karl-Katinka dance here again next week! And wasn´t that what had them put on this show in the first place?!

"I´m sorry; she already has an engagement for next weekend," he told the bartender. "But I´m sure she´d be delighted to come back Saturday a week. And I don´t think she´d object to perform here on a more regular basis either. After all, it´s a way of starting a career, isn´t it?" Karl would probably object, but even if he would, they´d still have reached their goal: raising the money to travel to Köln next weekend to cheer on Viersen FV to hopefully win its first national championship. And even if they would get on to him (Peter) about the beautiful dancing lady, he could always say Katinka had returned to Russia...

So he offered the bartender his hand. "Deal. I´ll talk with her tonight."

A handshake, and a five mark note unobtrusively changed hands. "For tonight," the bartender whispered. "Boy, she is really good..."


	4. Katinka

"No way!" Karl told Peter when he heard about the arrangement. "I did it _once_ for us to be able to go to the footballgame next week. But that´s it."

"But you were marvellous! Everybody said so!"

"I don´t care; it was nauseating. These men grabbing my hand, caressing my legs and my cheek... Did you see that one of them actually tried to _kiss_ me!? No way, I´m not performing for that kind of public again."

"But think about the money! You made nearly thirty marks in one evening!"

"Yeah, and how am I going to explain that at home?"

"Tell them you´ve got a job. A well-paid job."

A grunt. "Like what..."

"I don´t know. A waiter in some luxurious hotel? I heard the tips you get in the Royal Hotel in Mönchengladbach are as royal as the hotel itself."

"Right. And how would I come by a job in Mönchengladbach? Let alone the travel expenses..."

"The manager is a friend of my father´s. He might even get us a job there for real, if you´d prefer that. And with such wages, a train-ticket to Mönchengladbach is only a trifle."

"Anyhow, my mother would never agree to my working in Mönchengladbach. Not while I´m still in school."

"So: if you want to make some money, you´ll have to do it here in Viersen. But I can guarantee you won´t make thirty marks a night in any other job."

Karl hesitated.

"Think about it," Peter urged him on. "Your mother wants you to go to university, right?"

"Yes..."

"No offence, but with your family´s standard of living, how is she ever going to afford that?"

"I´d have to work my way through college. Many people do."

"Yes. Working your guts out for a few lousy marks. While you could easily make thirty marks in one night, simply by exploiting your talent. And I bet you could make even more in the city."

Karl was silent.

"So why not take the opportunity to work on your craft? To develop it to perfection before you show yourself to the larger public of the city?"

Karl still remained silent. And Peter read his friend perfectly. And waited.

Finally: a heavy sigh. "I´ll think about it."

And Peter smiled. He knew his friend had come round, even though he was too obstinate to admit it just yet. But in two weeks´ time, Katinka Kordeva would perform again. And probably every Saturday-night following.

xxx

And she did. Karl discovered he actually enjoyed going out there and trying out a new act; more so with the knowledge that he was still fooling those guys at the bar.

His fame had grown rapidly. Within a month, the pub was absolutely packed on Saturday-nights. Business boomed for the bar, and a drawing of a dancing Katinka now featured the menuboard outside. Karl couldn´t help grinning whenever he passed it as himself.

Business was going well for him, too. By now, he sometimes made as much as fifty marks a night. Which meant he could afford a trip to anonymous Mönchengladbach with Peter for the necessary but embarrassing task of getting Katinka her own shoes, nylons and make-up, as well as some more clothes. They were effectively stored in the chest with play-clothes at the Zagarov place, and Karl was relieved that he didn´t have to secretly "borrow" things anymore.

The money he made was put in his money-box – it was the least suspicious place he could think of – and he had told his mother Peter´s father let him do odd jobs backstage at the theatre on Saturday-nights. His mother knew how much her son loved the theatre, and although she preferred something more substantial, more sound for her son´s future, she didn´t mind him pursuing this kind of work for a hobby. Especially since he made a few marks with it as well.

Summer vacation came, which for Karl meant working at the factory. A 16-year-old made for a practically grown-up labourer, even though he was still delightfully cheap for his employer. So young Karl was stationed at the assembly-line, six awfully long days a week. Making as much money in two months as he would performing as Katinka Kordeva in less than two nights...

To make up for the mind-numbing days in the hot factory, he asked Peter to arrange for Katinka to perform several times a week during the summer. Herr Bauer, the barkeeper, was instantly delighted of course. He had asked for the expansion of the profitable lady´s work before, but so far her agent had always kept it at bay.

With the hideously boring slavery-job in the factory in the background, Karl really enjoyed playing Katinka at night. Okay, there was one part of the job he abhorred: when his admirers tried to fondle or even kiss him. In such cases it took all his willpower to resist the urge to give the insolent a good right hook. But the rest of the time he mostly had great fun. Especially the night when two of his teachers from school showed their face in the bar. Peter had quickly hidden in the crowd, but after the initial shock, Karl found an extraordinary pleasure in paying his masters more than average female attention, without them being aware that they were being fooled by one of their own students.

xxx

It was late that summer when fate showed its face again. This time in the shape of a person: a certain Herr Hoffenbach from Düsseldorf.

Katinka Kordeva had just had another successful night, when a well-dressed man came up to her and insisted on buying her a drink.

In itself, this was nothing peculiar. Ever since the first night, her admirers had stood in line to buy her a drink after her performance, with the sole purpose of having the attractive young lady´s full attention for a few minutes.

Herr Hoffenbach led her to a corner-table, and as Katinka with her natural grace sipped from her usual soft-drink, he said: "You have an exceptional talent, Fräulein. Have you ever considered broadening your public? Düsseldorf, Köln... Berlin perhaps?"

Katinka smiled. "You fllatterr me, sirr. But to worrk in ze city... zat would rrequirre farr morre prrofessionall skilllls zan mine. I am onlly a humblle amateurr rrealllly."

"But an exceptionally good one!" Herr Hoffenbach leaned back in his chair. "Look. I want to make you an offer. My talentscout told me about you, and he was so enthusiastic that I decided to come and check out your skills myself. And you didn´t disappoint me; rather the opposite. You are a very talented young lady, and with a little polishing here and there, I am sure you would sweep the stages all over the country. So what do you say about coming to Düsseldorf, taking lessons in acting and dancing during the day, and at night perform in the revues at the Festival Theatre? I can pay you five marks a day to begin with, but I´m sure – with your talent – you´d soon have your own show, easily making a hundred marks a night or more."

"_What?!_" Karl put down his glass with a thump, nearly spilling out the rest of the liquid. His heart pounded in his chest. A hundred marks _a day_?!

Suddenly Herr Hoffenbach leaned forward and peered at the astonished face across the table. "You´re no female at all, are you?" he observed quietly as he scrutinized every feature of Karl-Katinka´s face.

Karl cringed. This was it: he was found out... He felt his cheeks burn a fiery red, and sweat breaking out over his entire body.

Herr Hoffenbach laughed soundlessly. "This is amazing! In my work I´ve seen quite a few males trying to impersonate women. But no matter how hard they try, it´s so hideously obvious that they´re _men_. You, on the other hand, didn´t even raise the slightest suspicion with me! At least not until I dropped that bomb on you, thus throwing you totally off balance. My goodness, you´re a natural! A marvel!"

A tormented Karl-Katinka looked up, his fingers nervously folding a beer-spill. "Don´t tell anyone," he begged. "_Please_, don´t tell anyone. And I mean _anyone_. I don´t want my family to find out that I... that..."

"That you can do a perfect female," Herr Hoffenbach filled in with a broad smile.

"No. They know that. But I don´t want them to know that I do this in public. For money." He gulped. "My mother would kill me..."

Herr Hoffenbach nodded, and regarded him for a moment. "How old are you?" he suddenly asked.

"Sixteen. I´ll be seventeen next month."

"Work? School?"

"I´m going in for my final year at the gymnasium. And I work in the factory during the schoolbreaks and vacations."

"And your parents want you to finish your school of course." Herr Hoffenbach sighed. "Well, I can´t blame them. No matter what a pity it is for you to postpone developing your real talents. But I suppose one more year... You do this often? Performing at the bar?"

"Once a week usually. On Saturday-nights. And now during the summer-vacation I´ve been doing it several times a week."

"Do you think you can keep that up this year? With your final exams coming up?"

Karl-Katinka swallowed. "I hope so. At least the Saturday-nights. I´m trying to save money to go to university."

"What do you want to study?"

An apologetic shrug. "I don´t know yet. Physics perhaps. Or history. Or... I don´t know. I suppose I´ll have to serve in the army first anyway."

"Probably, yes." Herr Hoffenbach sighed again, and thought for a moment. "Look," he said in the end, "I understand you have other obligations for the upcoming years, but I would really like you to develop your impersonating skills as well. And that takes practice. A lot of practice. If you continue your performances here, continually trying to improve yourself, do you think you could convince your parents that you have found a well-paid job in a hotel in Düsseldorf for the duration of your Christmas vacation? I´ve been asked to put together an entertainment ensemble to perform at the Düsseldorf Metropolitan Hotel for the holidays. You´d be working with professionals day in, day out, and gather heaps of experience. I´d pay you seven marks a day, plus bed and board at the hotel, and of course any tips you get are yours to keep. What do you say?"

Karl-Katinka gulped. "It sounds great..." he struggled out.

Herr Hoffenbach nodded. "Mind you, it won´t be a picknick. Life in the entertainment business is hard. But if you keep working on your craft, with a little guidance we could make you the biggest star in all of Germany. And not as Katinka Kordeva, but as the greatest female impersonator in the history of mankind! You sure got the talent for it; a truly unique talent I may say. With hard work and dedication, I´m sure you´ll soon sweep all of Germany off its feet."

Karl-Katinka sat silent.

"Would you like to give it a try?"

A sudden smile. "I´ve always wanted to be an actor..."

A smile in return. "Good. Now one last detail: what is your name? Your _real_ name?"

Karl-Katinka hesitated for a moment; then he said confidently: "To be honest, I´d rather not tell you. No offence, but what you don´t know, you can´t spill. Not even by accident. I´d prefer it if you´d know me by the name of... of... Oskar." He thought for a moment. "Oskar Danzig. Yes, that can be my stagename. Without my family ever being suspicious of it being me, unless I´d tell them myself."

Herr Hoffenbach smiled. "Allright. I´ll respect your wish for discretion. But you´re not Russian at all, are you?"

Karl-Katinka grinned. "No. Actually, I´m of Polish-Prussian descent." The guy may be offering him an interesting job and perhaps a grand future, but that didn´t mean he needed to know everything, did he?


	5. Armylife

Voices. One clear, one grunting.

"What the hell is taking them so long?"

"Stay calm, Maryse. Don´t forget they´re in the prison camp. They cannot come and go exactly as they please - they have to at least _pretend_ to follow the rules."

"But Papa Bear... I thought he could do _anything_!"

"Papa Bear is as human as you and me. And Oskar. He´s no miracle worker. And he said they had to get the stuff from England, right? So it´s bound to take at least several hours."

"That´s what they call ´military efficiency´, I suppose." The speaker sat down at his side and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "He´s really burning up, Karl. If only Papa Bear would hurry! That fever... I don´t _want_ him to die! What the heck is taking him so long!"

* * *

The military, the rules...

After having passed his Abitur (1) by the skin of his teeth, his mother was still so proud of her son, and so happy for him that she even consented for him to take on another waiter-job at the hotel in Düsseldorf where he had worked during the holidays.

It wasn´t merely the financial advantage that made her give in to her son´s wishes. Sure, his job at the hotel paid a lot better than his working at the assembly-line – just _how_ much better was something only Karl himself knew.

But apart from her son clearly enjoying the work, the waiter-job had the additional advantage of being a white collar job. And that of course was considered far more suitable for a student-to-be than a blue collar job in the local factory.

And even though she would miss having her youngest around, it would be beneficial for him to start making his own way in the world. He would need that independence when he was to join the army in October.

Still, the only reason young Karl was looking forward to the military was the definite stop it would bring to his double life. He blamed the military for having his father killed, and since he himself had no intention of getting killed in battle, he intended to confine his obligatory time in the army to only those activities he could not possibly escape from.

The summer following his Abitur had been a bit of a disappointment to him. He had been working hard on his craft that year; so hard that he nearly failed his Abitur. He had developed his act as Katinka Kordeva to perfection, and spent a lot of time practising to impersonate other people (e.g. _men_) as well. Peter´s father had even thought him good enough to grant him ten minutes solo in a beneficial revue he had staged at Easter. It had been the highlight of the year for him to be able to perform in public with even his mother – ever so proud – watching him play.

But back in Düsseldorf they didn´t want to hear about his wishes to be an allround impersonator. ´Never change a winning team´, was their device, and Oskar Danzig´s female act was a sure winner. So Karl had to be Oskar Danzig playing Katinka - occasionally alternated with other female characters - all summer long.

It palled on him, but he had to admit their success was unequaled. Oskar Danzig was 1932´s summer sensation in Germany, and anyone who could but afford it travelled to Düsseldorf to see him. Several of the shows the ensemble put on evolved entirely around their star "Katinka", and Herr Hoffenbach had been right: Oskar Danzig made big money. Really big. So big that he decided to play it safe and deposit it in the safest bank-country in the world: Switzerland.

At the bank in Zürich however, they looked a bit odd at so young a man – merely a boy – with so much money. But once he had let the bankmanager swear under oath not to repeat what he was about to hear, Karl´s explanation made it all perfectly understandable. For by then, Oskar Danzig´s fame had reached even Switzerland.

To avoid his money becoming worthless in the two years he was obliged to serve in the military – one never knew what could happen to currencies in so dangerous a time as the Great Depression – the manager advised him to buy gold and store that in the bank´s safe, completely out of reach until he´d need it when he´d start his studies in the fall of 1934.

Karl readily agreed; he wouldn´t need the money as long as he was in the military anyway.

And after travelling back to Viersen to spend a few days with his mother and Reinke (the only one of his sisters still living at home), he was ready to join the Luftwaffe in Berlin. Ready to bury Oskar Danzig in oblivion, for he figured that in two years time, people would have forgotten all about Oskar Danzig and Katinka Kordeva.

And then he could always start afresh as Karl Langenscheidt, the allround impersonator. And no one would recognize him as the former female impersonator Oskar Danzig anymore.

He could plan all he wanted to. But as it goes, it was not meant to be.

* * *

He had only served in the military for a few months – and hated practically every minute of it – when he received a letter from his sister Reinke, with a cry for help.

He had known his mother´s health had been deteriorating lately, but apparently the doctor had now diagnosed her eternal coughing and severe breathing problems as the feared tb!

´_Mother can´t work,_´ Karl read, ´_and I´m not __allowed__ to work, afraid as they are that I might have caught it, too. But what are we to live on, dear Karl? We get two marks a week from the deacony now that Mother has taken ill, and everyone is pitching in as much as they can. But you know as well as I do that most of our brothers-in-law are on the dole, too, and they are hardly able to put bread on the table for their own families._

´_Dr. Schlüter thinks Mother´s condition might improve if she could go and stay at a sanatorium. Preferably somewhere high up in the mountains, where the air is pure and clean. But how are we ever going to find the money to pay for such a place?_

´_I know your pay in the military is very small, Karl, and I know your duty to the Fatherland comes first right now. But I cannot resist asking: if you do have the opportunity on your weekends off, do you think you could try and get another job as a waiter in one of those grand hotels in Berlin? I don´t suppose finding a job in Berlin would be any easier than it is here, and I don´t even know if they´d let you, you being under arms etc. But if you could give it a try? Please? I don´t expect miracles, Karl. But that job you had in Düsseldorf last year paid so well, that I can´t help hoping __you__ might be the one who can pull us all through this ordeal. It still wouldn´t allow us to send Mutti to a sanatorium, but at least it would help us pay for her medication..._´

Slowly, private Karl Langenscheidt lowered the letter and stared out of the window. It was one of those grey, slushy winterdays in Berlin, but at this moment his thoughts were very far away from Germany´s capital.

"Bad news?" his bunkmate Theo Junkmann inquired.

Karl started. "What? Oh. Yes." He sighed. "My mother has come down with tb."

Theo nodded. "I´m sorry. That´s too bad. How is she doing?"

"Not too good, from what I understand. The doctor wants her to go to a sanatorium. But where are we going to get the money for something like that, if we can barely support ourselves?"

Theo was silent. Financial troubles of the kind were far too common nowadays to say something sensible that hadn´t already been said a million times.

"Do you think...?" Karl hesitated. "Do you think the sergeant would let me take on a job on the weekends?"

Theo shrugged. "I don´t see why not. Saturday noon till Sunday 9 p.m. is your own time. I don´t see how they could stop you from working during those hours if that´s what you want to do." Another shrug. "That is, if you could _get_ a job of course..."

"I don´t think that would be the problem," Karl mumbled as he got up from his bunk and headed for the door.

He had only gotten some ten meters down the corridor towards the sergeant´s quarters when he was grabbed by the shoulder and jerked around by Theo Junkmann.

"What do you mean: ´_that would not be the problem_´?" the young guy demanded. "Are you telling me you can get a job – a _paid_ job, no less! – any time you want to?"

Karl winced. Had he said too much already? "Sort of," he admitted half-heartedly, knowing full well his bunkmate wouldn´t leave it at that. "I can always try."

"Sort of!" Theo repeated. "Your connections must be extraordinary if you expect to get a paid job just like that! And not just _any _job, but a job that allows you to fit your work around the iron military schedule you have to live by here!"

Karl freed his shoulder and turned away. "Leave it, Theo."

"No, I won´t leave it!" Theo quickly moved in front of him, effectively blocking his path. "What kind of a job is that? I wouldn´t mind making a few extra marks either. You think they´d take me as well? On your recommendation?"

"Probably not. Now will you let me pass?"

"Not until you tell me what kind of a job you´re aiming at, and how come you´re so dead sure they would grant you the job, even with all the restrictions the military has on you."

Karl sighed and averted his eyes for a moment. He knew his bunkmate well enough by now to know that he would never let go until he had gotten a reasonable explanation. And face it: it was rather odd to be sure of being granted a job, with the unemployment-rates running as haywire as they did. Why did he have to let that slip in the first place! Otherwise he would have been able to explain things away, simply by saying he had been lucky!

"Allright," he sighed. "But I promise you one thing: you´ll regret it profoundly if you ever dare breathe a word of this to _anyone_! Inside or outside this camp!"

"Agreed." Theo eyed him somewhat suspiciously. "Why? Do you mean to tell me it´s... illegal?"

"No." Karl took a deep breath. "I´m just protecting my privacy, that´s all. I´m... I´m an actor." They´d have to _torture_ him first if he were ever to admit in _this_ environment that his main line of work so far had been impersonating women...

Still, Theo looked dumbfounded enough as it was. "An actor? You mean, you play in the theater?"

"Yes." That´s what he did, wasn´t it?

"And you expect to get a job here in Berlin right away?" Theo sounded rather incredulous now. "This city is full of actors! Are you that famous that...?"

Karl nodded confidently, finally sure he was on top of the conversation. "Back home I´m pretty famous, yes," he told his mate casually. "I´ve even had a few offers to come and play in Berlin. But I had to turn them down because of the military. I expect most of the ensembles that were interested in me this summer would still love to engage me, even if it´s only for the weekends. And if not: my Düsseldorf agent is an associate of a leading actor´s agency here in Berlin. I´m sure a simple recommendation from him would open up my way into the Berlin office as well."

Theo just stared at him. "Boy, you must be really famous," he whispered at last. "I´ve never met anyone more confident about his success." A hesitation. "So... who are you? I had never heard of the name Karl Langenscheidt before I met you here. So you must be using some kind of stagename, am I right?"

Karl smiled. "Yes, you are right. But I´m not going to tell you; you know more than enough as it is. Just make sure you don´t mention it to anyone, okay?" he reminded him. "I don´t need the whole camp drooling over their famous recruit. Or perhaps more likely: teasing and picking on him. This is to stay between you and me. Understood?"

Theo nodded. "Understood." Though he realized it might take a while for him to get used to this usually shy and rather timid bunkmate of his talking with such authority...

* * *

It went even better than Karl had hoped for. Apparently the few months rest hadn´t quite killed Oskar Danzig yet, and when it became known that the sensational female impersonator from Düsseldorf was in town, looking for a revue to participate in, the directors of the Berlin theaters were outbidding each other to engage him – if only for three shows a week.

Karl had given this development some careful thought. He did not really want to resuscitate Oskar Danzig and his ladies. But right now his personal pride and his future career were not the most important things to consider. He had to make money, as fast as he could and as much as he could. It would depend entirely on him whether his mother would have a chance to survive this horrible disease.

Many died of it; he was well aware of that fact.

But now it was up to him to make sure first, that she wouldn´t die of starvation, and second, that she would be able to get the medication she needed. And perhaps... perhaps even getting her to stay at a sanatorium, as Dr. Schlüter had suggested.

Oh, he could just _kick_ himself for having all the money he had made before so tied up that he wouldn´t be able to touch it for nearly two years to come! It would have easily paid for a possible speedy recovery. And he couldn´t get to one pfennig of it!

So now it was up to Oskar Danzig to quickly raise loads of money. _He_ was famous; _he_ could do it.

Allround impersonator Karl Langenscheidt on the other hand had hardly even begun his career. It would take quite some time to build up Karl Langenscheidt´s fame, and with it a pay as excellent as Oskar Danzig´s. Time his mother didn´t have.

So he really had no choice but to revive the famous female impersonator Oskar Danzig – and continue his double life again.

* * *

Life regained much of its old sneaky adventurous character from the time he was performing at the bar in Viersen.

Private Langenscheidt would leave the barracks shortly after noon on Saturdays, dressed in civilian clothes, and with his hair under his cap combed back under a shiny layer of pomade. The difference in hairstyle already gave his face a totally different expression as soon as he´d take off his cap. The glasses he carried in his pocket and which he consequently placed on his nose as soon as he was out of sight from the barracks were enough to make him practically unrecognizable for anyone who didn´t pay extremely close attention to his face. As Peter used to say: "Just give that guy another hat and he_ is_ someone else." That chameleontic trait sure came in handy if you didn´t want anyone discovering the link between Luftwaffe private Karl Langenscheidt and the famous female impersonator Oskar Danzig...

He´d arrive at one of the major Berlin revue theaters around 12.30, and after getting changed to a lady, there would be some rehearsal on a particular part of the show. A matinee at 4 p.m., dinner, prime time performance at 8 p.m., and then change back to Oskar Danzig and catch some sleep in the cheap bed&breakfast hotel next door, where many of the theater´s flexible workforce had their domicile.

Most of the Sunday usually passed with the rehearsal of his new scenes and programs. Then there was another matinee, but after dinner he´d have to head back to the barracks in order to be in time for Sunday-night roll call.

It was a busy life; he hardly ever had a moment to himself. But the satisfaction he felt when – after no more than two months – he was financially able to send his mother to a sanatorium in the Bavarian Alps was indescribable. It was he, Karl Langenscheidt, who at the age of eighteen served as the family´s bread-winner.

His career as allround impersonator could wait. First he´d have to make sure his mother would get better.

* * *

.

(1) Abitur: the final exams of the German secondary school.


	6. Nuts

A/N: Okay, life is a bit chaotic at the moment, moving house for an (in itself not so appealing, but better than nothing) part-time job first, and a week later being granted a dreamjob on full-time scale on the other side of the country, which means I´m going to have to move _again_ next week... But in between that and the Papa Bear Awards, I´ve found a few hours to write down the next chapter about our favourite German corporal as well, so enjoy!

xxx

Suddenly he was aware of someone peering close at him. He looked up. "Peter!" It was his friend Peter waiting for him at the camp´s entrance!

"Karl! I was hoping you´d show up around this time!"

They stood happily thumping on each other´s shoulders for a moment; then Karl asked: "What are you doing here? Are you on leave? Boy, it must be what... a year since I last saw you! How´s life in the navy?"

Peter had a shrug. "Okay, I guess. I´ve been thrown out."

Karl stared at him. "Thrown out?! Why? What did you do?"

Another shrug. "Nothing."

Karl gave him a steady frown. "If they´d throw people out for doing nothing, they would have kicked _me_ out months ago. And you _wanted_ to be in the navy. So what happened?"

A sigh. "Hitler happened, that´s all."

"Hitler?!"

"He became Bundeskansler this winter, remember?"

"Yeah, I know who Hitler is allright. But what does he have to do with you being kicked out of the navy?"

"For heaven´s sake," Peter sounded exasperated now, "don´t you read your newspapers?"

Karl sniggered. "Not really. Too busy for that." He quickly filled him in on his mother´s condition and his own life this past half year. "Come to think of it, I have to get to work. You want to come along?"

Peter nodded silently, and off they strode together through the sunny streets of Berlin.

"So what´s Hitler got to do with it?" Karl asked as they had walked a fair bit in silence.

Peter shrugged. "Forget it. I didn´t realize... Boy, your mother´s a lot worse off. At least I still got good health."

A smile from Karl. "Don´t worry about that: she´s in good hands, getting excellent treatment. So what´s with you?" He pulled the glasses from his pocket and put them on.

Peter looked at the movement and snickered involuntarily. "Good thing you weren´t wearing those when you left the camp. I´d never have recognized you."

Karl grimaced amused. "Can´t have them trace the connection between Oskar and me now, can I? I´d be the laughing stock of the camp!"

Another silence.

"So tell me what happened. And you´d better start at the beginning, for other than Hitler being Bundeskansler now, I haven´t the foggiest what mischief the nut´s been up to lately."

Peter cast a quick glance over his shoulder. "You better watch your tongue, mate. It´s dangerous to speak one´s mind nowadays."

Karl chuckled. "Peter, you´re being paranoid. And you´re avoiding my question. Now tell me: what happened?"

"I´m not paranoid!" Peter protested.

"What happened?" Karl insisted.

A deflated sigh. "Hitler has been issuing decrees ordering boycots of Jews in several areas. They are not allowed to practise medicine or law anymore, or have a business. Or work in public service, or be in the army."

"He´s nuts," Karl declared from the bottom of his heart. "But what´s that got to do with you? _You´re_ only half Russian."

Peter cast a sharp glance at his friend. "I am. But I´m also a thoroughbred Jew."

Karl´s jaw dropped. "You are?"

Peter shrugged. "My parents aren´t exactly religious, so there´s no way you can tell. But descent is all that matters for a man like Hitler."

It was Karl´s turn to remain silent. But in the end: "He´s nuts. He really is. So what are you going to do? Will they let you start medical school when they don´t want any Jewish doctors around?"

Peter shook his head. "I can´t get into any college or university. I´ll simply have to find some other kind of job while the guy is in power."

"Well, cheer up." Karl punched him playfully in the shoulder. "That can´t be much longer. As long as you and I have been on this planet, no German Bundeskansler has _ever_ managed to stay in office for very long. And a total nut like this one...!"

"Karl, that ´total nut´ as you choose to call him has prohibited all political activity except his own party. He´s practically a dictator!"

"Oh!" That shut Karl up.

xxx

The weekend´s visit from his friend really opened up Karl´s eyes for what was going on in the world around him. He had been so engrossed in his own busy double life that he hadn´t bothered to notice the many changes in society.

But they were there, undoubtedly.

And their conversations in between rehearsals and performances those days drew his attention to many new regulations he deemed to be absolutely preposterous. And Peter knew what he was talking about: he found the consequences to his cost.

"We´ve got to stop him somehow," Karl declared.

Peter arched his eyebrows. "How? The republic is practically dead, and besides, we´re not even allowed to vote yet."

"Well, there must be _some_ way."

"Yeah, commit a coup d´état. Or just kill him." Peter shrugged. "Good luck; all you´ll probably manage to do is get _yourself_ killed in the process."

"Maybe. But someone´s got to stop that nut. Or would you like to live in a society with first class and second class citizens? With a government that´s out to make life impossible for certain people, just because they´re not fully German?"

"We already _are_ living in a society like that," Peter pointed out. "And of course I´d rather see it otherwise. But _you_´d better be careful, too. Hitler isn´t too keen on homosexuals and the likes either."

Karl´s face darkened. "I´m _not_ a homosexual."

"I know. But your being a female impersonator will make them suspect that you are."

Karl frowned, but made no reply. Would he really have to bend to that nut´s stupid ideas and quit his job as Oskar Danzig? He could of course start afresh as himself, as he always wanted. But that would mean starting from scratch. And just like earlier this year, he still couldn´t quite afford the kind of minimal pay a beginning actor usually got. His sister Reinke may have been cleared and back to work, and she may have moved in with one of the other sisters, but there was still his mother. His mother, whose necessary stay at the sanatorium depended solely on _him_ making enough money to pay for it. And there was no way he could make that much money in a day and a half a week if he´d quit as Oskar Danzig.

He let out a sigh. "Well, at least nobody but you and my bankmanager in Switzerland know that Oskar and I are one and the same." He looked his friend sternly in the eye. "My bankmanager has promised under oath not to reveal that information to anyone. I hope_ you_ can keep your mouth shut as well."

Peter nodded. "Not a word. I promise."

xxx

Now that he knew, Karl noticed the evil everywhere. Shops that were closed and set fire to, signs prohibiting Jews to enter, the sickening Nazi propaganda, the new brutal police force...

It only enforced his determination that someone had to stop this nonsense, before it could get out of hand. Before people got hurt.

But how?

He didn´t know. Seeing Hitler´s new private police force at work, he realized Peter was probably right: trying to kill or just get rid of Hitler would most likely equal committing suicide. But with the republic functioning – or rather disfunctioning – as it did now, would there be any other way?

Once the people would stand up against Hitler, Karl realized it might come to a civil war or something ugly like that. With a lot of bloodshed. And that new police force was brutal; there was no other word for it.

But for Pete´s sake, _something_ had to be done to stop that nut, or soon they´d all be living in hell! And hey, why couldn´t young Karl Langenscheidt be the hero who saved his country from that nut?

Actually, he had grand visions of himself aiming a gun at the nut during one of those long-winded shrieking speeches he had never bothered to listen to. One shot, and the nut would come tumbling down the stage. And people would cheer and he´d throw away the gun and be carried around on their shoulders.

Or perhaps he´d have to hide from the police, but then he´d simply sneak across the border, collect his money in Switzerland and be off to some faraway country where they´d never find him. But hey, that would be fun. And then at least Peter and all those other innocents would be able to live a normal life again.

Or perhaps he could find a few comrades, and they´d kidnap Hitler on his way home one day. Not for a ransom, but just to get him out of the way. They could hire a plane and force him to parachute down on some tiny little rock in the middle of the Atlantic. With no other human being around for thousands of miles. Let the nut try and rule over the seagulls!

He didn´t have a real plan yet, but since he was pretty sure Hitler´s removal would not occur without some form of violence, he decided he´d better be prepared. No matter what other people did or didn´t, _he_ didn´t want to stand aside doing nothing while that crazy nut deliberately ruined people´s lives. And what better place to practise fighting techniques than the army?

So the – up till then – rather idle recruit Langenscheidt suddenly started to train his shooting skills with both the rifle and the revolver to absolute perfection, both right-handed and left-handed. For the first time in a year he became serious in the training of man-to-man fighting, and he also developed an avid interest in demolition – after all, blowing up the nut might be an option, too. On top of that, he wanted to learn everything possible about navigation as well. For actually he would prefer to avoid bloodshed and just get the nut out of the way by kidnapping him. But they´d have to be sure to drop the nut on the right island then, so that he couldn´t get his hands on other innocent people instead.

And so he kept as many options open as he could.

His senior officers commended him for his dedication; his fellow-soldiers were either full of admiration or sick of envy to see his skills improve so quickly.

But only Karl Langenscheidt knew he didn´t do this in order to – finally – become a good soldier. _His_ only goal was to be ready to assist in eliminating that nut Hitler in one way or another, whenever the occasion should arise. Hitler, whose preposterous ideas only led to more and more ridiculous regulations for those who happened not to be part of the so called superior German master-race.

And with the confidence and the recklessness of the scarcely 19-year-old he was, he simply saw his mission as a good and brave deed. And even though it might be risky, as he developed the necessary skills to perfection he had no doubt whatsoever that he´d get away with it.

And perhaps, at a more subconscious level, it would be a way of proving to the world that Karl Langenscheidt was not some kind of sissy boy either.

xxx

.

A/N: I´m not sure whether all the mentioned regulations regarding Jews came into power within the first half year or so of Hitler´s reign as Bundeskansler. If I´m at fault there, feel free to inform me (though I don´t promise I´ll correct it in the story), but you may also shrug it away as the story being fiction ;-)


	7. Shock

_Author´s Note: I know it´s been a while; I hope you still remember where we were!_

_

* * *

_

**Warning:** this chapter contains some not so pleasant Holocaust references towards the end.

* * *

With a sigh private Langenscheidt fell down on his cot. Another day over. Only sixty-four to go.

Too many. But at least the end was in sight. In sixty-four days he would be allowed to quit the military altogether, and to take off that hated uniform, never, _ever_ to put it on again. He´d have done his duty, so by then he´d finally be able to get on with his life.

He closed his eyes for a moment. These precious moments, these forty-five minutes before lights-out, were the only time he had had to himself for the past year and a half. He had never been too fond of the noise and the smoke of the recreation hall, but ever since he had gotten to work on the weekends he had avoided the place like the plague.

His fellow recruits apparently amused themselves splendidly by playing cards or billiards, and by typical male boast about one´s own sizes and abilities. And talk about women. But he preferred the peace and quiet of the dormitory, reading a book, or sometimes just thinking. Life was so hectic nowadays...

At first his bunkmates had teased him and laughed at him. And tried to coax him into joining them after all. But in time apparently the fun had gone out of it, and now they simply regarded him as an odd duck. And Langenscheidt didn´t mind – after all, with a job like his, he really was an odd duck in the overly masculine world of the military.

He opened his eyes and took the book he´d been reading lately from the nightstand. Shakespeare´s ´The Merchant of Venice´. In German of course; English had never been his forte. He leafed on to the second act, glanced at the page and then he closed his eyes and quietly recited the lines. He hardly ever needed to peek; he had always been good at memorizing texts.

It felt good to practise something more serious than Oskar Danzig´s flirting flimsiness. If his mother continued to mend as she had these past months, perhaps she would be able to leave the sanatorium before the year was over, and thus setting him mostly free from the task of providing for her. He probably would anyway – after all, he was the only one of her children with a job who didn´t have to worry about supporting a wife and children – but that would be a lark compared to the cost of her staying at the sanatorium in Bavaria. Which meant he would finally be free to bury Oskar Danzig for good and try and pursue a more serious acting career.

True: he had always wanted to be a comedian, and comedies was what the public wanted to see these days. But he felt he first needed some counterpoise for the flighty Danzig-character he had played for the past years. One season perhaps; then he could move on to what he saw as his calling in life: to make people laugh, and to make them forget their sorrows for a while.

Suddenly his divine solitude was shattered: a multitude of footsteps came running down the hallway, and Theo Junkmann and a few others barged into the room.

"Karl! Have you seen the bulletin-board?"

Before he could answer, Martin Lauke already spilled the news: "You´ve been promoted! To corporal!"

Karl merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, that´s nice." He returned his attention to his book, leaving his comrades standing at his bedside like deflated balloons.

"That´s all you have to say!? _´That´s nice´_?!?"

Karl shrugged. "Well, what else should I say? It´s not like I was dying to get a promotion."

Theo prodded him. "Maybe not, but... Most of us would jump a hole in the sky for such news. And you didn´t even move a muscle."

Another shrug was all he got in reply. And Lauke shook his head. "You really are weird, Langenscheidt..."

xxx

The next morning he found himself called to the sergeant´s office, together with seven of his fellow-recruits. One by one they were called up front to receive their corporal stripes, with a little speech of commendation.

Karl barely listened; he couldn´t quite share his comrades´ excitement. He found it merely ironic that they´d decided to honour him – Karl Langenscheidt – with a promotion, since he was one of the very very few in the camp who couldn´t care less about such things. But hey, he had long discovered that life was ironic. And him being promoted "on account of technical expertise" only added to his already impressive irony-record.

Just as Sgt. Zettler was about to dismiss them with a cordial congratulation and an exhortation to keep up the good work in accordance with their new rank, there was a knock on the door.

"Herein!"

One of the orderlies appeared. "A telegram for one of the men under your command, sir."

"Danke." Zettler took the envelope and waved away the orderly and his newly promoted recruits all in one gesture. "Dismissed everyone."

They all filed out of the room, but Langenscheidt was called back: "Here. It´s for you." An encouraging grin. "Perhaps your family´s congrats on your promotion?"

Karl had only a wry smile in return. A telegram? For him!?

He had barely exited the room before he ripped open the envelope.

_"Frau Langenscheidt died 28-7 – cardiac arrest – our __condolances – Dr Weck"_

Slowly he lowered the paper. He could scarcely fathom the impact of the words. Mutti dead!? Just as she was finally on the mend from her tb, she died of... He glanced at the paper in his hand: _cardiac arrest_. Something with the heart apparently. The irony, the...

He realized his knees were trembling, and he leaned onto the wall for support. And read the bare message again: _"Frau Langenscheidt died 28-7..."_ That was yesterday. He crumpled his new corporal stripes in a sudden flare of anger and thrusted them on the floor.

Suddenly the door to the office opened and Sgt. Zettler strode out. And came to a startled halt. "Langenscheidt? Was ist los: bad news?"

Karl merely thrusted the telegram in his hands. And Sgt. Zettler read. And looked up. "Your mother?"

He nodded brusquely.

A compassionate hand was placed on his shoulder. "Das tut mir wirklich leid. Come in for a moment."

He picked up the crumpled insignia from the floor and guided his new corporal back into the office. "Sit down." The sergeant poured him a Schnapps. And Karl, who was but a very moderate drinker, downed the glass in one gulp without as much as a smirk.

Sgt. Zettler sat down behind his desk and pulled out a form. "I suppose you´d want to attend the funeral?"

Karl nodded.

"I´ll give you a furlough of course. How long do you think you need to get there and back?"

He shrugged. "I don´t know. I probably have to go all the way to Bayern."

Eyebrows were raised. "Bayern? I thought you were from the Düsseldorf area."

A sigh. "Yes. But my mother had tb. She´s been in a sanatorium up in the Alps these past few years.

"Oh. I see. I´ll give you a week´s pass then. You may leave now; be back next Wednesday morning for roll call."

"Danke."

Zettler scribbled down something and handed him the note. "You better take your dress uniform. And try to find a few minutes to sew on those insignia. I'm sure your mother would have been proud to see you as a corporal."

Karl heaved a sigh. "I'm sure she would have."

xxx

Frau Langenscheidt was indeed to be buried in Bad Reichenhall, far, far away from her family. And only very few of them could afford to attend: apart from Karl, there were only two of his sisters, one of whom lived in relatively nearby München. And then there was their mother´s youngest brother: uncle Frank Geisler (1), who was a priest in a small town south of Düsseldorf, and who led the private memorial service with compassion.

Karl´s sisters had to return home again right away, but when uncle Frank learned that his nephew wasn´t due back in Berlin until Wednesday, he suggested they´d both stay an extra day and spend some time together. After all, he was Karl´s godfather, too, and the closest thing to a father the young man had ever known.

Karl readily agreed; he felt he could do with a break.

So after they´d seen Sibylla and Grethe to the omnibus, Karl and his uncle set off wandering the beautiful summer mountains around Bad Reichenhall. First they walked in companionable silence – they had always gotten along very well – but in the end uncle Frank inquired how things were in the Luftwaffe.

"Lousy," Karl sighed. "I'm counting the days till it´s over."

Uncle Frank chuckled. "You can´t be doing that lousy if you just got promoted."

"I'm not _doing_ all that lousy," Karl clarified, "but I hate it nonetheless. Can´t wait to get out of it."

Uncle Frank nodded. "So what do you want to do when it´s over?"

A shrug. "I don´t know. Mother dreamt of me going to university. But..." Another shrug.

"But what?" uncle Frank inquired gently as his nephew made no effort to finish his sentence.

Another shrug. "I don´t know. It seems so pointless to apply: I don´t even know what I'd want to study."

Silence.

"I'd thought that perhaps during my years in the Luftwaffe I'd figure out what I'd want to study. But it´s been so busy that I´ve hardly had the time to think about it."

Uncle Frank nodded pensively. "Do you _want_ to go to university, Karl?"

Yet another shrug. "I don´t know. Maybe."

A quizzical half smile. "Tell me: are you being honest now?"

Karl looked up and chuckled in embarrassment as he realized his uncle saw right through him. "To be honest: no. I don´t enjoy studying that much that I'd want to make a job out of it."

His uncle smiled. A sad smile. "I'm glad you could voice that thought, Karl. For you can´t live your life for your mother – no matter how tempting it may be to satisfy her wishes. Especially now that she´s just passed away."

Karl made no reply, and they walked on in silence for a while up the steep slope, until they reached a bald top and stood looking out over the green valley on the other side.

"So," uncle Frank said after he caught his breath, "if it´s neither the military or university, what would you like to do? Do you enjoy your job at the hotel?" He placed his hand on his still slender nephew´s shoulder, silently asking for his confidence. "I'd like to help you if I can, Karl," he added.

Karl looked at him. And gulped. "I don´t work at a hotel, uncle Frank. I never have," he confessed. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Strange but calm.

And uncle Frank just waited for him to continue. Curious but patient.

"I´ve been lying for years," Karl quietly continued his confession. "I´ve always wanted to be an actor, and that´s what I´ve been doing during the weekends and vacations ever since I was sixteen. And I love it. But Mother wanted something more substantial for me; she regarded everything connected with the theater as a hobby. So I never told her – or anyone – and instead I said I was working at a fancy hotel..."

"I see." Uncle Frank´s eyes searched his face. "Do you feel bad for having lied to her all that time?"

Karl averted his eyes. "A little. I feel worse about never having gone to see her at the sanatorium though. Not even once, though if any of us had the means for it, it was me. It was just... I spent every spare moment at the theater, making more money."

"To pay for her necessary stay here," uncle Frank filled in.

Karl nodded. "But it should have been possible to use a few marks to go and visit her! I'm sure she would have loved that!"

"I'm sure she would have," uncle Frank agreed. "But I think she understood." He gave his nephew´s shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Anyway, there´s no need for you to be consumed by guilt. You did what you thought was best for her. In hindsight, we often wish we could have done things differently. But we can´t. So let it rest, Karl. Your mother was excessively proud of you for providing for her stay here. She expressed this more than once in her letters. So let that be your consolation – even if in hindsight you realize you might´ve been able to do more."

Karl had only a weak smile in return.

"Well, let´s get going," uncle Frank suggested. "Perhaps we can eat our lunch somewhere down there, and then we'll try and find our way back to Bad Reichenhall."

So they started their descent into the green valley. Uncle Frank inquired some more into Karl´s work as an actor, but when he found his nephew rather evasive in his answers, he let the subject rest and started to fill him in on his childhood acquaintances in Hamelburg. And so, engaged in friendly talk, they reached the bottom of the valley, and they were just looking for a good spot to devour their sandwiches, when...

"Halt! Stehen bleiben, you filthy Jews! And no talking!"

Uncle Frank froze; Karl looked startled about.

"Now take off those clothes. All of you. Now!"

The grating voice came from somewhere behind the bushes on their left, and was clearly not directed at _them_.

"What´s going on there?" Karl whispered under his breath.

His uncle shook his head. And watched as his nephew bent down and oh so carefully started to edge through the leafy bushes.

But then he came to his senses: "Karl, nein! Get back here!"

But young Karl didn´t listen.

"Schnell! Or I put some lead into you right away!" the grating voice barked.

For a moment uncle Frank hesitated; then he decided he´d best go after his nephew to at least stop him from doing something even more foolish.

He needn´t go far: he found his nephew lying down under one of the leafy bushes looking out over a grassy slope. And not twenty meters away from them, a group of at least a hundred women and children were awkwardly undressing themselves out in the open. Some ten SS soldiers stood watching them, leering, their machineguns ready to fire.

"What are they _doing_?" Karl whispered worriedly as he noticed his uncle crawling up to him.

Uncle Frank watched the scene for a moment. "They´re Jews allright. See those yellow patches on their clothes?"

"But why would they...?"

"Underwear as well!" the SS colonel in charge ordered with his cruelly grating voice.

A soft murmur went through the group; some of the children giggled. Giggled!

"Quiet!" the colonel roared, and instantly the silence was restored.

"I don´t think we should be here," uncle Frank murmured. But he couldn´t quite bring himself to crawl back to the path either.

And so uncle and nephew kept watch as the children and the ladies of all ages and sizes hesitantly removed their underclothes as well. One of the ladies carried such a heavy baby-belly that she needed another woman´s assistance to remove her underthings. And suddenly she moaned and writhed with pain, and wrapped her arms protectively around her belly.

"She´s about to have her baby," uncle Frank whispered tonelessly.

"Silence!" the colonel roared again, and he motioned one of his men to beat the moaning mother-to-be into obedience. One of the other women tried to interfere, but she got his so hard over the head that she fell down in a heap.

"We´ve got to do something," Karl hissed through his teeth. "I don´t know what they´re up to, but we´ve got to stop them!" He started to get up, but his uncle pulled him down with a thump.

"Don´t be stupid, Karl. There´s nothing we can do against armed SS soldiers."

"But...!"

"Be quiet!"

Boiling with indignation and anger Karl watched the soldiers herd the awkward group to the center of the grassy field.

"Halt!" the colonel ordered. "Now turn around everyone."

The women and children slowly turned to face him and his men; the pregnant lady was leaning on two other women now just to be able to stand up.

"Fire!"

Machineguns rattled, and the women and children fell by the handful. Cries were heard and choked, and in less than ten seconds the field was infernally quiet again. Only a soft gasp here and there reminded of the shooting of a moment ago, and the colonel motioned his men closer. "Finish this off," he ordered. "And don´t forget that little bastard that was about to be born."

Karl and his uncle lay paralyzed stiff for shock in the bushes. Short salvo´s still echoed around them, and the soldiers started to kick the lifeless bodies over the edge of some large ditch there. They laughed as the sound of human flesh falling on human flesh came to their ears. They _laughed_.

Karl buried his face in the sand and put his arms over his head. Uncle Frank saw the movement, and placed a hopefully comforting arm over his nephew´s back. The boy was shaking and trembling all over.

"What do we do with the clothes?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Oh... throw them in there. Then close the pit and we´re done for the day."

Uncle Frank watched shakily as the men picked up some shovels and filled up the mass grave. Then they took their guns together with the shovels and marched off.

"Good riddance," he heard the colonel smirk as the group passed right in front of them.

A few minutes later the motor of a heavy truck started. And as its sound slowly drifted off following the disappearing vehicle, an eerie silence settled on the field in front of them.

"Karl." Uncle Frank softly patted his nephew´s trembling shoulder. But his own voice trembled, too. "Karl, let´s pray for those poor people´s souls..."

Slowly, Karl lifted his head. He was absolutely livid, with eyes wide with shock. "Th... they just... they just killed them," he croaked. "They just _killed_ them! Why!?"

"Because they were Jews, I suppose." Uncle Frank´s voice was toneless with emotion.

Karl just stared. "Is that a reason to kill them off?! Like bloody animals?"

His uncle took a heavy breath. "For Adolf Hitler, apparently yes." He hesitated. "I´ve heard rumours..." He didn´t continue, and Karl didn´t prompt him either; he was still struggling to fathom what he had witnessed a moment ago.

"Come on." Uncle Frank got up and worked his way back to the path. Karl simply followed him, too numb to think for himself. Until he suddenly felt his stomach turn, making him instantly throw up in the undergrowth.

Uncle Frank hurried back to him and supported him as his stomach emptied itself. "You´ll be okay; it´s just the shock," he reassured him quietly.

Still, Karl stood shaking on his legs, and he carefully lowered himself to the ground.

"You wait here; I´ll be just a minute," uncle Frank said. He handed his nephew the canteen with water they had brought, and then he quickly walked back the way they had come.

He returned but a few minutes later with two straight branches. "Do you happen to have a piece of string or something like that?" he asked his nephew.

Wordlessly Karl searched his pockets, and indeed produced a piece of string.

"Here. Hold this." Expertly his uncle bound the two branches together to form a wobbly cross. "Come on."

Without a word, they headed back to the field. Before stepping out of the bushes, uncle Frank spied around. But the grassy field lay deserted. "No need to place a guard with _this_ grave, I suppose," he muttered under his breath as he walked through the long grass with his shocked nephew in his wake.

Karl bent down. Something glittered in the grass. It was a necklace, with a locket. With a picture in it.

"Look." He handed it to his uncle as they reached the slight mound in the middle of the field.

Uncle Frank nodded. "We can hang it on the cross." He pushed the make-shift wooden cross down in the loose earth of the mound. And hung the locket on top of it.

Silently they watched it sparkle in the sunlight. Uncle Frank folded his hands and began to recite the prayers he had said at his sister´s grave only the day before. They sounded even more heartfelt now than they had yesterday.

Finally, uncle and nephew crossed themselves, and slowly started to move away.

Hardly a word was exchanged between the two of them, either on their way back to the boarding-house, or the rest of that evening. But the next day, when their ways were about to part in Regensburg again, Karl suddenly stated with deadly determination: "I'm going to do something about it. I don´t know how, but I'm going to help those people get away. _No one_ deserves to be treated like that. And I'm _not_ going to stand aside and pretend nothing´s happening. I won´t!"

Uncle Frank regarded his nephew´s stubborn chin. The thin determined line of his mouth. The indignation and anger still burning hot in his eyes.

And he slowly nodded his agreement. "Good on you, my boy. Just..." He swallowed with difficulty. "Just... be careful, okay?"

Karl nodded and embraced his godfather.

"_Very_ careful," the uncle whispered over his nephew´s shoulder.

.

* * *

Historical note: the mass execution Karl and his uncle witnessed here has really taken place sometime under Hitler´s reign. I don´t know exactly where or when, but I´ve seen a series of pictures. I don´t know if this was common practice; it might as well have been a special event. But no matter how nauseating it is, this part is a more or less true story. I simply brought the pictures to life. And I´ve added Father Geisler and his nephew witnessing this heart-breaking crime.

* * *

(1) Father Frank Geisler originates from Eva Seifert´s masterpiece _Theater of War_. His connections with the Langenscheidt family however sprout from my own fantasy. A little more about the relation between uncle and nephew is told in my story _The Pied Piper of Hamelburg_ (my own continuation of _Theater of War_), chapters 4 and onwards.

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	8. Refugees

**In honour of Jon Cedar**

**1931 – 2011**

**whose portrayal of Karl Langenscheidt and Oskar Danzig  
provides me with continuous inspiration  
for this story, and others.**

.**  
**

* * *

Yelling. Badgering. A hoarse laugh. A shriek of terror. More shouting. Crying. The breaking of glass.

Karl Langenscheidt stood still and listened. It came from that side-street up ahead. Quickly he walked on and peered around the house at the corner.

He bit his lip in frustration. There they were again: the Nazi bullies. It weren't always the same guys. But they were always in a group, terrorizing and abusing one. Or two. And once a young mother with three little children.

Cowards, the lot of them. But too many to take on – as he had learned by experience the first few times he'd witnessed scenes like this. He'd simply been beaten up for being a 'Jew lover', and then they had turned back to their original victims. It was no use interfering.

Instead, he did what he had sworn not to: he stood to the side and watched. It was still more than what most people did. If they didn't join in the 'fun', they usually went by quickly at the opposite side of the street. And with their head turned away. Pretending the scene wasn't there. _Hoping_ it wasn't there.

A cry of distress brought his attention back to the unfortunate couple. Two elderly people. Held by two of the bully monsters, while the others had gone inside and were thrashing all their belongings out through the window. Furniture broke, glassware shattered all over the sidewalk. Clothes were flying everywhere.

The lady burst out in tears when a few photoframes joined the heap with a crash. She tried to move over to pick them up, but the guy holding her wouldn't budge. Suddenly however, he changed his mind, and still holding her tightly, he led her over to the photographs. But he wouldn't let her bend down to pick up the pictures of her loved ones. Instead, he put down his heel on them. Hard – crushing and damaging them as much as he could.

A powerless witness to the woman's distress, Karl dug his fingernails into his palms. Oh, how he wanted to interfere! Teach those guys a lesson!

But he could not. His tactics of lately in a situation like this had proven to be wise. Patience was the key. Jumping in would not only leave himself severely beaten up; it also would gain nothing for the poor souls he tried to help. Better wait till the bullies had gone, and then offer his help and services.

'Langenscheidt's Moving Services,' he thought with a sour smile. 'Helping you to move once you've been beaten out of your home.' And he turned, and quickly hurried home.

* * *

It was but ten minutes later – shortly after the nasty bullies had left – when the couple was trying to salvage whatever was left to salvage from their belongings, that they were addressed by a stranger.

"I saw what happened," the man with the blue hat and the long overcoat said as he stopped at the gate. He fingered his salt and peppar coloured beard.

The elderly man gave him a look like murder. "Then why didn't you stop them!"

Sadly, the stranger shook his head. "I am but one man. I am as powerless against them as you are."

The man averted his eyes. "Verzeihung, mein Herr. You are correct: it was not your business to stop them."

"But it is now," the stranger refuted calmly. "I witnessed a crime, yet I did nothing to stop it. But only because I have learned by experience that there is nothing I _can_ do to stop a group acting like this. But there is something I can do to protect you afterwards. To prevent this from happening to you again. This – or worse."

The lady looked up from the ground where she was sifting through their shattered belongings. "Who are you, sir?"

A bitter smile. "A man who saw too much."

They looked at him, imploring him to continue.

The stranger swallowed. "Last summer, I was the accidental witness to the senseless mass murder of some hundred Jews. Women and children."

The woman let out a soft gasp.

"I could not stop it then – as little as I could stop this now," the man continued. "But that day I vowed that I was not going to stand by and pretend nothing is happening. Our present Bundeskansler is a madman, and there is little I can do to stop him from turning this country into a living hell. But what I _can_ do is help the people he oppresses and brutalizes… and possibly tries to eradicate completely… to get to safety. Out of harm's way until the day the German people will stand up together and bring this madman's regime to an end."

They both kept their gaze on him – one with trepidation, the other probing.

"Get us to safety," the man said at last. "Safety _where_?"

"Across the border. Poland, Denmark… wherever you'd want to go. Anywhere there Hitler has no authority."

Silence, in which the couple solemnly looked at one another.

"Actually," the lady spoke up quietly at last, "We have discussed leaving the country when we heard the tales of what was happening. But in the end we decided not to go. The rumours, they… they just seemed too preposterous to be true."

"I agree," the stranger said in an equally quiet tone. "But they are true nonetheless."

Another long silence in which the man and the woman searched each other's face. Then the woman nodded, and the man turned to the stranger once more – this time with his eyes narrowed. "How do we know we can trust you? You might just be leading us into a Gestapo trap."

The stranger held out his hands. "Sir, there is nothing I can say, or do, or show you that would prove my wish to help you to be genuine. It's entirely a matter of trust. But if this would be a Gestapo trap, would it not be easier to simply arrest you here and now?"

There was a battle of stares, until suddenly the woman spoke up. "I believe him, Dittmar."

"And how would _you_ know?" her husband scoffed.

"His eyes," she replied. "They betray that they have seen too much. Just like he said."

Apparently that settled it. "What do you want us to do?" the man asked as he turned back to the helpful stranger.

"Pack up everything you want to bring along. Where do you want to go?"

The woman looked at her husband. "To Warsaw. It's where our daughter lives."

"Good. There is a train leaving for Warsaw at ten past two this afternoon. Would that give you enough time to pack up your things and get to Berlin Central Station?"

The woman looked around at their scattered belongings in doubt, but her husband nodded curtly. "There is not much to salvage anyway. We will be there."

The stranger nodded. "Good. Then I will meet you at the station's main entrance no later than two o'clock. And we will pretend that I am your son Otto who is seeing you off."

"But what about the tickets? We…"

"Don't worry – I'll get you the tickets you need."

They both looked at him. "Mein Herr, you are too kind," the lady said.

He sadly shook his head. "I'm just trying to soothe my conscience. To make up for being too spineless to speak up when I watched those women and children being slaughtered..." His voice trailed off, and the elderly man watched him with an expression akin to compassion.

"They might have killed you, too, if you would have," he pointed out quietly. "And if they had, you would not be here now to help us get away."

The man nodded without a word. And the lady took his hands in hers. "Go in peace, my son. We will meet you at the railway station as arranged."

With a final look at them, the stranger took his leave, and walked down the street without looking back.

* * *

Everything had gone so smoothly. Too smoothly perhaps? But it had gone this smoothly the five previous times he'd helped Jews get away, too.

He'd already met them as they alighted from the aft compartment of the tram – the only one allowed for Jews to use. "Vater, Mutter! There you are! Come – let me give you a hand with those bags." He had embraced them both, and under pleasant chatter had he guided them to platform 5, where the train to Warsaw stood ready for departure. He had presented their tickets and his own platform ticket at the ticket controller under a steady stream of well-wishing, travel advice and things they had to tell 'Nora' from him.

He had located their compartment, handed them their tickets plus (under protest) five hundred mark to cover first expenses, got into the train with them, made sure they found their places and were seated comfortably – or at least as comfortably as one could get on the plain wooden benches designated to Jewish passengers – and lifted their bags onto the overhead luggage rack. A hug farewell to his 'mother', a solid handshake to his 'father', and with the best wishes for a safe journey had he climbed down to the platform. A little more affectionate and advising sign language back and forth from the platform, and when the whistle blew, the doors slammed shut and the train started huffing and puffing its way out of the station, he had waved until it disappeared out of sight around a curve.

But on his way back to the station square outside, he had suddenly felt eyes pricking in his back.

Imperceptibly, his back stiffened. But he forced himself to walk on as if nothing were the matter. It could be just his imagination, or...?

He stopped at the kiosk in the main hall, and feigned interest in a magazine about automobiles that allowed him to look back at where he had come from. Was anyone there paying any special attention to him? There were so many people milling about...

He reached for the magazine to leaf through it while he searched the crowd for possible bloodhounds on his trail. And jerked back when the keeper of the bookstall suddenly barked in his face, "Keep your hands off my merchandise, you filthy Jew!" That's right – he had momentarily forgotten that he was posing as a Jew – with yellow Judestar and all – in order to make the charade of seeing off his 'parents' convincing for whoever would be watching.

He held out his hands and stammered an apology, before quickly making his way out of the station.

But first he needed to know whether he was really being followed. So he casually leaned against the main tramstop shelter, while keeping an eagle-eye on the station's exit.

He didn't have to wait long. Six, seven people exited the building and simply went their way. But the next man stood still for a moment, his eyes sweeping the square as he folded the newspaper he'd apparently been reading. And there could be no mistaking the facts: when his eyes found the fake Jew Karl Langenscheidt, they halted for a moment, before flitting off to the left, and immediately the man began to walk over to the tramstop in brisk stride. He even had the audacity to come and stand beside him, opening his newspaper again and continuing on the feature article.

Karl studied him out of the corner of his eye. Fortyish, dark hair, brown hat, dark eyes, sharp, peaked face, brown leather overcoat. He didn't recall ever having met the man. Was he really following him, or...?

'Well, we'll find out soon enough, won't we,' he thought grimly, and took the first tram to stop at the tramstop.

Fortunately he remembered this time that he was supposed to be a Jew, and thus to take the aft compartment, and noticed his possible pursuer taking the wagon in front of that. And how he remained standing by the door, even though several seats were empty.

'Think!´ Karl told himself. 'Try and recall all those pulpdetectives you read as a boy. How did those guys rid themselves from evil pursuers? Only better be careful – this is not a story, so I can't take for granted that I'll automatically come out on top.'

He noticed how the man in question kept glancing in his direction every time the vehicle stopped to load and off-load passengers. So he decided to get off at Pankow Station, just to see what the man would do.

And what do you know: he got off, too.

At this point, young Karl was actually beginning to enjoy the adventure of it. Carefully avoiding to look at his adversary, he made a show of checking Saturday's timetable, and then left the building again, hopping onto the first tram to pass.

As did his pursuer.

Yes, there was no doubt that the man was indeed following him. What other reason could he possibly have to start reading the Berliner Zeitung at the Central Station, take a tramride to Pankow Station and continue reading his paper there, and then hop onto the same tram heading towards the city center as he had?

Luck was on his side when they stopped at the city center. The group of women getting off momentarily blocked him from his pursuer's view, and he quickly hid in the throng and got off. By the time his pursuer realized he was gone, the tram had already resumed its course.

Karl grinned. 1-0 for him. But he knew he had to act quickly. The next stop was only some hundred meters away, and if the guy was indeed interested in him, he'd be back here in mere minutes.

And the first thing to do was to get rid of his coat. Without the telltale Judestar, he'd have much more freedom to move around. So he purposely strode into the first side-street, and noticed a few large refuse bins near the rear exit of the department store.

Quickly, he stepped into the alley, pulled the horn-rimmed glasses from his coat pocket and put them on, took off both coat and hat and stuffed them in the first bin. True, it was a bit chilly with just his jacket, but he still had the scarf. And that's what any man who fancied himself the sporty type liked to wear these days: jacket and scarf. So it would do for now.

Casually, he ambled out into the street again, and chose the side entrance to the department store. For going around without headgear would certainly attract attention – he needed a cap or something, and he needed it fast!

Putting on an act of an absent-minded scientist, he accosted a sales-girl with a confused, overly detailed story about having left his cap on the train, and she graciously helped him pick a new one, and cut off the price-tag as well so he could wear it right away.

After profuse professions of gratitude, he headed for the main exit – only to discover that his nemesis had taken up a post at the doors, letting his eyes wander over the many clients in the store, as well as over the pedestrians outside.

Feigning an interest in the book department he was just passing through, he thought quickly. With glasses and cap, and without the coat, chances were pretty good that the guy wouldn't recognize him. But just to make sure he'd look natural, he'd better leave the store with a purchase. After all, women can indeed go shopping for hours without buying anything, but men tend to enter a store with a clear goal of buying this or that – and determined not to leave the story empty-handed.

So he wandered over to the crime section, reasoning that it wouldn't be a bad idea to refresh his theoretical skills in eluding a pursuer. And with two books and a bottle of aftershave, he then again walked toward the main exit – with a face clearly expressing his eager desire to get out of the place.

And the guy, who seemed to make an in-depth study of every male leaving the store, gave him the same obtrusive stare as he did everyone – and let him pass without a spark of recognition.

Once outside, Karl looked at his watch. And nearly jumped. It was twenty past three – he had to go on stage in forty minutes!

The Grand Festival Theatre wasn't far, but he still took off at a run. As the pronounced star of the ensemble, Oskar Danzig could certainly take a _few_ liberties with the manager. But being late was definitely not one of them...

* * *

.

_**Author's note:** Yes, I know it's been ages (nearly two years in fact) since I've last updated this story. Two years in which Karl/Oskar has had quite some development in my other stories, but somehow I never managed to get beyond the first 500 words of this chapter._

_Now that Jon Cedar has passed away, it seemed the fitting thing to do to at least continue with this one – the original story that set off_ _**The Corporal Chronicles** – as a tribute to the actor who portrayed them both. And what do you know: now that I set my mind to it, I had little trouble pushing on beyond those 500 words, and am well on my way through the next chapter as well!_

_For those of you who were following the story before: I have gone back and changed a few small things in the earlier chapters. Like Karl/Oskar, even his associates have developed a fair bit in the subsequent stories, and to me, especially Little Red Ridinghood seemed terribly out of character here _:-)


	9. Julius

_A/N: well, two days for the next update is certainly better than nearly two years, right?_ :-)

* * *

It was actually both by choice and out of necessity that Oskar Danzig was still alive.

Coming out of the army in October, Oskar had agreed to stay on for the fall season, but had insisted he would not perform during the holiday season that year. "Family business," he had claimed. And no matter how much they offered their star, he was not to be persuaded.

Instead, he registered with a rivalling acting agency under his own name, and involved himself in the carousel of auditions going on for the many Christmas plays planned for the holiday season. And it was thus that he discovered the kind of life the majority of the actors live.

Refusing to link the name 'Oskar Danzig' with his own, he had little to recommend himself but his participation in school plays. He couldn't blame the many directors he auditioned for to be skeptical – but it was utterly frustrating to find himself turned down over and over again. And more so with those directors he _knew_ to have been begging on their knees for Oskar Danzig to come and perform with them. Sometimes he just wanted to scream at them. "You fools! _I'm_ the Oskar Danzig you're all drooling about! If you like _his_ acting so much, how come you don't like mine?"

Not that he did it of course. It'd be the quickest way of blowing all Karl Langenscheidt's chances for a normal, decent life one day. For Oskar Danzig was bound to fade away into oblivion once he'd quit performing for good. But Karl Langenscheidt had an entire life to live. As well as family members to consider – family members he was sure would be horrified if they'd ever learn about his double life as a famous _female_ impersonator...

But in the end, the director of a small children's theater decided to give this promising rookie a chance, and hired him as the assistant bad guy in their Christmas play. It meant performing three shows a day (four on the holidays and in the weekends) for a salary that was barely enough to cover basic groceries, but unlike other beginning actors, Karl was fortunate enough to have a fat bank account to compensate for that.

The experience however was certainly worth it. Children proved to be an inspiring and grateful audience. And the young public having been invited to openly comment on what was going on at the stage made it all a very interactive adventure, thus honing his improvisation skills, for no two performances were the same. Sometimes you came backstage limp with laughter, while at other times you found yourself desperately squirming your way back to the basic plotline.

The extremely busy Christmas season was always followed by a rather slack month of January, when every ensemble was rehearsing for their spring season performance. As a newbie, he discovered it wasn't easy to get into existing ensembles, and despite the praise he had gotten for his role as assistant bad guy in the children's play, Karl found he was practically back to square one when it came to winning a part through auditions. True, the director of the children's theater had encouraged him to come and audition again any time, but for the spring season they were putting on a fairy-tale in classical ballet. And although Karl/Oskar may have a lot of experience in revue dancing, classical ballet was way out of his league.

From a financial point of view, he could have continued the aspiring actor's life of mostly striking out at auditions, occasionally interspersed with minor jobs, for several years. There was however one more factor to consider. And that factor was called Adolf Hitler.

Under the dictatorial regime of the nut (as Karl preferred to think of him), the German society had become increasingly grim. It was true that Hitler had succeeded in eliminating all unemployment – at least, if you believed the statistics. It was an open secret however that much of this achievement was due to the firing of Jews (who in Hitler's book didn't count as humans anyway, so their now massive unemployment was not included in the statistics), and replacing them with 'real' Germans who were more often than not neither fully qualified nor had the experience necessary for the job.

But Jews were not the only ones to be harassed, excluded and discriminated. Anyone deemed unfit by Hitler's sick philosophies to be part of the Aryan superrace risked a similar fate. And one of those 'unworthy' groups were the mentally retarded. Like his nephew Julius...

He was reminded of this when he returned to Viersen in January for Reinke's wedding – the last of his sisters to get married. With all his brothers-in-law finally holding down a job (thanks to Hitler's policy) it was a far more festive affair than any of the previous family weddings he recalled. Practically the entire Langenscheidt clan was present, leaving only the miss of their mother to dampen the spirits a bit. Karl had danced with his nieces (several of whom were but a few years his junior), cracked jokes with his nephews, discussed world politics with his in-laws and submitted himself to his sisters' fussing over their baby-brother's well-being. He carefully stuck to his previous claims about working at a fancy hotel, but he did allow himself to relate about his part in the Christmas play, making it sound as if it was his dramaclub that had put on the show.

And it was in this ambience that he learned about Julius – his sister Luise's youngest son, who was a Down's child – having been referred to a state institution for 'experimental treatment'. But Luise and her husband had refused. In the noise of the party she now admitted to Karl and two of her sisters that seeing to Julius's special needs was a burden indeed in addition to raising their six other children. "Still, we love him far too much to let him be treated as a guinea pig. Especially in a 'state' institution, knowing that the bloody state doesn't even regard him as a human being."

Trude and Sibylla nodded appalled, but Karl was already thinking in solutions. "Luise, why don't you take him abroad – away from Hitler's authority?"

A nervous laugh. "Have you lost your mind, Karl? I can't just leave Klaus and the children and go and live somewhere else!"

"Then you all go. At least until that nut's out of power." After all, this was along the same lines as helping Jews to get out of the country.

"But Klaus has got a good job now. And the children's schooling... Besides, where would you have us go?"

"Anywhere you want. Holland is the closest of course. Or Belgium, or France. Or Luxembourg – they even speak German there. As long as Julius is out of Hitler's reach."

Sibylla shook her head. "I think you're overreacting, Karl. Surely things aren't _that_ bad that they'd just come and take him away without his parents' consent."

Karl slumped in his chair. "They're bound to if this keeps up much longer. I've heard of many people fleeing the country. The Zagarovs even moved to America."

"Zagarov? Wasn't that your friend Peter's family?" Trude inquired.

He nodded. "I thought I'd go and see them now that I'm in the area, to ask how Peter was faring. But the neighbours told me they'd moved away last year. To some place called Milwaukee. And all they could tell me about Peter was that he hadn't gone with them."

The talk moved on towards Trude's best friend who was also contemplating to move to the States, and Karl's eyes wandered off toward the end of the room, where his younger nephews and nieces were happily engaged in what looked like a police versus the bad guys game. Julius was among them, not quite understanding the rules, but his cousins gamely overlooked his goofs and helped him to participate to the best of his abilities.

Apart from Karl himself, and Grethe and her family who lived in München, they all lived in the Düsseldorf area, and consequently the children saw each other frequently for birthdays and holidays. They were as much playmates as they were cousins, and had totally accepted Julius as he was.

He had a bitter smile as he realized he might have to expand his Moving Services to just these kind of families as well. Even if it meant staying on as Oskar Danzig in order to keep the necessary funds flowing in.

As he became aware of Luise's eyes on him, he turned to her. "Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?" he pleaded quietly. "I can help. I don't want to see him hurt."

Ten days later he received word that little Julius had been forcibly removed from his family's care, and put in an institution in Kiel. Family visits were not encouraged (and that put it mildly).

* * *

After beating himself up for an hour or so for not having been more insistent with his sister, Karl became aware that his energy would be much wiser spent in trying to find a way to get Julius away from the Nazi pseudo doctors.

But he soon found that was far easier said than done.

Ideally, he'd march into the institution posing as an officer (preferably Gestapo – a simple party-pin was easier to come by than a full uniform) with falsified orders to collect for example five 'Unterkinder' for a special experiment in Berlin. Then he'd have them all lined up, pick out Julius and a few others, and personally take them to a safe place – possibly across the nearby Danish border right away.

There were however three major problems with this set-up. First of all he had no idea where to take the rescued children. He didn't know a single soul in the Kiel area, let alone in Denmark, and he couldn't very well drop the kids on just anybody's doorstep. With a bit of bad luck, they'd end up with a Nazi sympathizer and would be sent right back where they came from.

Secondly, he didn't have a clue as to what Gestapo orders looked like and included, making it impossible to produce believable fake ones.

And thirdly, he had seen enough of Hitler's Geheime Staatspolizei at work around town to know that a mission like this would be undertaken by at least two, but more likely three or even four men. And where was he going to find a few helpers he could trust?

For that was yet another curse of Hitler's glorious Third Reich: you couldn't trust _anyone _nowadays. There was no way to tell a friend from an enemy – your very own brother could turn out to be a party member and turn you in for a casual disapproving remark of the New Order.

Still, his brothers-in-law were the first ones he considered asking. Klaus himself was probably too closely involved – chances were that he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings upon seeing his son there. But with a little coaching, Renz and Benno, and possibly even Artur, might just make quite convincing Nazis.

But he dismissed the idea. This wasn't like the slipping through the meshes of the law he did when he was helping Jews to get out of Germany. No – if he'd manage to have a serious go at getting Julius out of that institution by posing as a Gestapo officer, it was likely to be regarded as a serious crime. He couldn't subject his brothers-in-law to such danger – they all had a family to take care of. And besides, he'd very much prefer to keep his relatives unaware of his attempts to thwart the Nazis. If only for his own safety.

No. If he was ever to undertake something as bold as this – and he was certain there was a reasonable chance for success – he was going to need allies. People who were equally aghast by what the Nazi regime was doing as he was. People he could trust.

And if there was one man left in all of Berlin whom he knew he could trust, it was the priest of his parish.

* * *

Since he had restarted his Oskar Danzig career back when he was in the army, Karl had not been the most regular churchgoer in town. Most regular masses conflicted with his working hours, but he still tried to catch at least one mass a month. It was sufficient, he knew, for Father Werner to know who he was, and to recognize him as a member of his small parish. So when he stayed behind in his pew the next day after the early morning mass, the reverend priest showed no surprise.

"What is it, my son?"

Karl looked up. "Can I talk to you, Father? In private? And I mean _really_ in private?"

"Of course. Follow me." Father Werner led the way to a small reception room to the side, and closed the door behind his guest.

Karl glanced around. It was but a small room, with only a skylight high up in the sloping ceiling to allow the early morning sun to cast its rays on the white walls.

"Have a seat, my son," Father Werner said, and he sat himself at his desk. "What can I do for you?"

Karl sat down in one of the easy chairs without really relaxing. "I would like to ask your advice."

Father Werner nodded, and Karl went on relating about what had happened to his nephew this week. "My sister and her family are so worried for him. They have no faith in any 'experimental treatment' imposed by the Nazis, and more so knowing that a child with a handicap like Julius's isn't even regarded as a human being by that bunch."

Father Werner nodded his agreement. "They will have a lot to answer for when the day comes."

Karl sat up. "Exactly! But I don't want to wait for that – I want to try and get Julius out of there as soon as possible. But I can't do it on my own."

Father Werner raised his eyebrows. "Are you asking _me_ to pull some strings with the party?"

"No – no, of course not. I've got a plan to go and fetch him myself. But I can't do it on my own – I need at least one person to come with me. And I need props, too. And... I thought, since you know so many people, and... and you've spoken out against the New Order several times in your sermons..." He began to flounder a bit, but Father Werner had already picked up on the gist of his request.

"You're here to ask if I could introduce you to some people who might be able and willing to help you to get your nephew out of that institution."

A sigh of relief. "Yes."

The priest sat in silence for a long time, with the young man watching him in anticipation. Finally, the older man spoke again. "And what exactly does this plan of yours entail?"

Karl looked somewhat uncomfortable. "I'd rather not tell you. It could imply your complicity in case it'd go wrong and they grab us. The less you know, the better."

A mild smile. "I'm glad you are able to face up to the danger of what you're planning, and I thank you for your consideration on my behalf. But son, if I'm to help you find someone to assist you in your plan, then I'll need to know at least the basics of what you intend to do. How else can I make a sensible recommendation as to whom you should talk?"

Karl thought this over, and found the argument logical. "Okay. Here's what I want to do." He briefly outlined his idea, and awaited the priest's verdict with some trepidation.

The question he got though was not quite one of the many things he had been deliberating about by himself these past days. "And what makes you think you can pull off to act as a nasty Gestapo officer? You don't exactly seem the type."

Taken aback, he answered, "Well... I'm an actor. A professional actor, I mean. An impersonator really."

Eyebrows shot up. "An impersonator?"

"Yes. Ever since I was a child, I could watch other people for a little while, and then mimic all their actions, their posture, their speech, their entire _being_ – everything! And believe me: I only came out of the army a few months ago – I've had ample opportunities to study the comportment of nasty officers."

Father Werner watched him with incredulity, but then a small smile crept to the corners of his mouth. "That certainly is a talent with possibilities!" He chuckled. "But that's for another time to muse about. Let's see what you need for your plan to rescue your nephew first. One or two men to accompany you as aides – men who at the very least can keep a straight face no matter what happens, but preferably with some acting experience. And then some sort of a Gestapo outfit for all of you, as well as fake orders. Hm." He stroked his chin.

"And a safe place to take Julius and the others once we get them out of there," Karl added.

"Yes. But I may already have a solution for that."

Karl raised his eyebrows, and Father Werner explained, "I have a friend in Neustadt – not far from Kiel, and practically on your way back from Kiel to Berlin. He's the priest of the parish there, and a good friend of mine. I know he's been helping Jews to get out of the country, so I am fairly certain that he would be willing and able to help these children, too. He may even have contacts in Denmark."

Karl beamed. "That would be great!"

"I'll write him today," the priest promised. "And as for the uniforms: I know just the man. He's in the regular army, and he is responsible for the central uniform depot."

"And would he be willing to secretly lend us some?"

"Definitely. Or else I would not recommend him to you. He's doing the Bible reading in tomorrow's evening mass, so perhaps you could meet him afterwards?"

Karl blew his hair away from his forehead. "Difficult. I don't want to arouse too much suspicion by skipping more rehearsals. They're already bound to give me a hard time for the day we're going to Kiel. But perhaps... I should be able to get back here by nine tomorrow evening. Do you think you could ask him to wait?"

Father Werner nodded. "I suppose so. And by tomorrow I may also have someone to accompany you to Kiel."

Karl sighed. "Thank you, Father. You're solving a lot of my problems."

A chuckle. "Well, that's part of _my_ job description, isn't it? To help people solve their problems."

Karl grinned. "I know. My godfather is a priest, too."

"Where?" Father Werner's interest was instantly peaked.

"In Hamelburg, near Düsseldorf."

Father Werner suddenly stood. "In _Hamelburg_, you say? That wouldn't happen to be Frank Geisler, would it?"

Karl nodded in surprise. "He's my uncle, yes. How do you know him?"

"Well, with the Roman Catholic church being rather minor in Germany, us priests tend to know all our colleagues in the country. But Frank Geisler... we were in the seminary together. But that was of course many years ago. Before you were even born, I guess." He shook his head. "So you're a nephew of Frank Geisler's..." He seemed to lose himself in memories for a moment, but he shook himself visibly and turned back to his visitor. "So I'll see you around nine tomorrow evening. Just come into the church – that's the least conspicuous."

"Alright." Karl got up to leave. "Oh, and one more thing, Father. Please don't tell these people my name. Or even what I look like. I'd prefer to keep my 'real' persona as inconspicuous as possible, so I'll show up in disguise and under another name tomorrow. In return, they are free not to give away anything about themselves either. The less we know of each other, the less we can betray."

* * *

.

_Author's note: I hope I'll be able to finish the next chapter before Thursday – if not, there's no way of telling how long it's going to be, since I'm having a minor operation on my elbow that day. And I'm afraid that is going to keep me from writing for a while (how will I survive? ! ?). A real pity, for we are getting close to meeting our first other acquaintance from Stalag 13..._

_As a consolation, I have good hopes to be able to do some serious catching up on my reading instead. _:-)_  
_


	10. Experiments

_**Serious warning:** Oskar Danzig's story of 'how it all began' is a bit darker than the folly of his recent bestseller caper The Key to Berchtesgaden. And this chapter, too, contains some references to a not so pleasant atrocity towards the end._

_At least you've been warned!_

.

* * *

The following evening, he had entered the church with a full beard shot with grey. A few streaks of grey in his hair, as well as a few carefully placed wrinkles near his eyes gave him the look of a 40-year-old at least.

Still, though it would do for now, he wasn't quite content with the result. He had seen other actors age themselves with better results. And besides, he knew there were more possibilities of altering one's features. And if he were to transform himself into another character more often, it certainly would come in handy if he was aware of the possibilities. Perhaps he should take a course for professional make-up artists?

That is, if they'd get away with the rescue of Julius, of course.

Father Werner was busying himself at the altar. Karl walked up to the chancel, went down on one knee and crossed himself, and then said quietly, "It's me. Karl."

Father Werner peered at him, and had a barely visible shake of the head. "I wish I could say, 'I see'. But I don't." He nodded towards the side entrance. "In my office."

A nod of acknowledgement, and Karl went as directed. Through the side-door, down the whitewashed corridor, the first door on his right.

The heavy wooden door was closed. He could make out voices behind it, but the sound was severely muffled by the door, making it sound like a mere uneven murmur.

He raised his hand to knock. And froze. What on earth was he doing? Leading others – complete strangers – into danger for a boy they had no ties to...? If anything went wrong – if they'd get captured... it would be _his_ responsibility. Was he really up to that – to _take_ that responsibility for other people's lives? He may be a successful and celebrated actor (at least in certain circles), but he had no experience in leading a raid like this. Could a mere 20-year-old be expected to pull off this semi-criminal scheme? Was this not a first step on his descent into a real criminal future?

He took a deep breath, and forced his mind to focus on Julius. For whatever this may lead to, this time at least his intentions were not malicious or dishonourable. All he wanted was to rescue his nephew from a gross injustice. No one in their right mind would fault him for that. Even if the way to accomplish it may be called 'deceitful'. But then, so was his entire life...

Another deep breath for courage, then he knocked and opened the door at a man's, "Herein!"

He was immediately scrutinized by two pairs of eyes. The blue pair belonged to a friendly looking young man, not much older than he; the brown pair to a sturdy man of the age he currently pretended to be.

"Guten Abend," he managed to get out, and closed the door behind him.

"'Nabend," came the reply in stereo.

There was an awkward silence when Karl took the last empty chair, and during the following silent study they all mutually made of each other.

Until Karl got a hold of himself – _You__'__re __the __one __in__ charge __of __this __expedition!__ So __for __Pete__'__s __sake, _take _charge!_ – and neutrally expressed his gratitude for their coming. "May I ask what exactly Father Werner has told you?"

The older man answered. "That you want to try and get your retarded nephew out of some bizarre state institution by posing as Gestapo."

"Yes," the younger man joined in. "And if perhaps I could organize the uniforms you'd need." His face lit up in a smile, and Karl took an immediate liking to him as he continued, "Won't be a problem at all! Just tell me what you need."

He returned the smile. "Let me first explain the details, okay? But before we get to that..." He turned deadly serious. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. It's only because of our mutual trust in Father Werner that we are here together, discussing this. I want you to know that I have complete faith in his judgement of others; I hope the same goes for each of you when it comes to me. But no matter what, the things discussed here tonight should under no circumstances go beyond this room. May I have your word on that?"

"Of course." A curt nod from the older man, as the confirmation was echoed by the younger one.

"Good." A quick but tense smile. "Now here is what I have in mind..."

* * *

It was nearly a week however before they could put the plan in action. By bits and pieces, Olaf (as the younger man had introduced himself) had smuggled out two basic Gestapo outfits from the depot. He had even provided them with an example of authentic Gestapo orders that some officer had forgotten in his pocket. Eduard (as the older man had called himself) had taken those, promising that a friend of his would be able to produce believable fake orders with this prototype as an example.

Karl himself had – in disguise – taken up lodgings in a boarding-house for the time-being, under the name he used with his new allies. He was responsible for hiring a small truck and get enough petrol for the way to Kiel and back, as well as making sure that he was acquainted with the route they were to take. Including the detour past the parish hall in Neustadt.

Father Werner's friend had agreed to organize that Julius and the other children would be taken across the Fehmarn Belt to Denmark that same night. So if only Karl and Eduard could pull off their stunt, the children would soon be in safety.

The rest of his scarce spare time outside rehearsals – as well as considerable portions of the nights – Karl spent studying an illustrated guide to creative make-up he had picked up, and on trying out its techniques on his own face.

The results were absolutely breath-taking.

Sure, he had always known his face had that odd quality of being able to present a whole different personality, just by putting on another hat. And he sure had picked up the basics of theatre make-up by now, which had enabled him so far to enhance his natural chameleontic abilities.

But this...!

The book showed him how to alter each and every one of his features, each with at least a dozen variations. Together with tips on how to age and de-age your appearance, that made for an almost infinite number of possible combinations, and every time he checked the final result in the mirror, he could barely believe it was his own reflection looking back at him.

So when the day came – very early in the morning – that Eduard called at the address he'd been given, it was hardly surprising that he didn't recognize the man who answered the door.

Slightly taken aback at not seeing the man he had expected to see, he greeted the other cautiously. "Guten Morgen, mein Herr. I am truly sorry to have disturbed you – I must have gotten the ring signals mixed up. I am here to see Herr Beerbaum."

The door was opened wider, and the man gestured for him to enter. "I'm sure he's here. I'll take you up to his room. But I must say you are very early indeed, sir. Does he know you are coming?"

"Yes, he's expecting me." Eduard followed the man through the veritable maze of narrow corridors and stairs until they reached a half open door in what was presumably the attic of the building.

The man simply pushed the door open and entered. "Kommen Sie herein," he invited.

Eduard hesitated. "Um... I think there's been some mistake," he began.

The man grinned back at him. "No mistake. I am the Hans Beerbaum you were supposed to meet." And on seeing the entirely justified suspicion in Eduard's eyes, he added, "I'm a bit of a make-up artist – I work in the theatre. You didn't meet the real me in Father Werner's office either."

Eduard's eyes narrowed. "Recognition code?"

"'I hear there's a blizzard due this afternoon.' Reply, 'When did they transplant Berlin to Siberia?'"

Eduard relaxed visibly, and closed the door behind him. "I would never have recognized you."

Karl chuckled. "That's the idea, isn't it? And I thought we might want to make you a little unrecognizable, too, if you like."

"Sure." Eduard put down the small suitcase he'd brought, and let himself be guided to sit down on a low stool.

Karl studied his face for a few moments. "How about I make you look ten years younger? Perhaps with a nice impressive scar on your cheek?"

* * *

A good hour later the two strangers left the boarding-house and walked over to the communal parking lot around the corner. They were both dressed in the standard inconspicuous dark leather overcoat that had become a trademark of the Geheime Staatspolizei. An equally inconspicuous dark hat and a Gestapo-pin prominently displayed on their black tie completed the outfit Olaf had smuggled out to Eduard's place over the past few days.

Karl – or Hans Beerbaum as his companion knew him – carried the fake orders in his inside pocket. They looked genuine enough to his untrained eye, and he could only hope and pray that they were indeed convincing enough for anyone who inspected Gestapo orders on a regular basis...

It was a long trip from Berlin to Kiel – some three hundred kilometers as the crow flies. Eduard drove, and Hans made sure they took the correct route. They didn't speak much other than Hans's occasional directions – not even when they stopped by a wayside café in the outskirts of Kiel to avoid having to confront what lay ahead of them on a near empty stomach.

But when they got back to the car, and Eduard casually inquired after the name of the institution they were looking for, Karl suddenly realized they had a bit of a problem. He didn't _know _the name, nor did he have any idea where the place was located, other than it being in Kiel. And Kiel may not exactly be the size of Berlin or even Düsseldorf, it was still a fair-sized city. That could get awkward when they'd start asking people for directions...

Eduard shook his head. "Never embark on a mission without knowing where you're going," he chided his comrade. "But never mind that now. I'm sure we'll find it somehow."

They got back in the truck, and after some discussion decided to try and get the information from ordinary looking citizens first. The general fear of the Gestapo might just prevent them from asking any further questions or mentioning their encounter to anyone who shouldn't know about it.

So Eduard pulled up alongside a lady with a pram, and Karl addressed her in a friendly tone bordering on a menace. "Guten Tag, gnädige Frau. Could you please give us directions to the State Institution for Retarded Children?"

The woman's eyes widened in fear. "I'm sorry, sir. I've never heard of that place."

"Hm. Drive on, Schiff."

When the four enquiries following only produced similar results, Karl muttered to his companion, "This isn't getting us anywhere. I saw a sign for the central police station back there. Let's go and ask them."

Eduard raised his eyebrows at him. "Asking the police? Are you nuts?"

"No. But they're bound to know. Or would you rather drop in at the tourist information office with a question like this?"

Eduard made no reply, and resigned to doing what he was told. After all, it was Hans's mission – not his. And as long as the guy didn't get _too_ over-the-top crazy in his ideas...

And shortly afterwards he pulled up at the kerb outside an impressive police station built of giant grey bricks.

"Come on," Karl admonished. "And remember, you're Gestapo now."

They swiftly took the steps up to the entrance, exchanged a silent Heil Hitler greeting with the guard at the top, and entered the building with an air as if they owned the place.

The hall was every bit as impressive as the outside – spacious, with marble floors and high ceilings, and dominated by a large reception desk.

An elderly Sergeant approached them as soon as they entered. "Guten Tag, meine Herren. How may I help you?"

A perfect Heil Hitler greeting from the visitors was deftly returned before the leader of the two explained, "We were sent here by Colonel Thon, Gestapo Berlin, to pick up some Unterkinder from the local institution for an experiment." He pulled the orders from his pocket and handed them to the Sergeant. "The Colonel wasn't sure of the name of the institution, but he's absolutely positive it is located right here in Kiel. He told us to ask for directions locally."

The Sergeant was still perusing the paper he had been given, and Karl felt the sweat prickling in his neck. Was something wrong with those orders?

"I see," the man said at last. "And what kind of institution is this?"

"An institution for experimental treatment of the mentally retarded," Karl replied stiffly. It was all he really knew... Eduard was right – he should have done more research into this. One wrong question and...

But a colleague of the Sergeant's came to his rescue. "He means the Richter Institute, Inko." He pulled out a map of the city and spread it out on the desk. "We're here," he pointed out to the visitors. "And the Institute is here – just outside town. Now if you go back to the main road, and follow the signs to Schleswig, you'll find a large manor hidden among a sudden patch of trees on your left – maybe five kilometers out of town. It has a sign up at the entrance to the driveway – Richter Institute. That's where you'll want to go."

An extra good look at the map, and... "Danke. I think we should be able to find it now." A quick smile, the orders back in his pocket, another Heil Hitler greeting, and a moment later they were back at the car.

"That went well – considering," Eduard commented. "You really need to be better prepared, you know. Having to ask directions like this is putting yourself at unnecessary risk."

"I know, I know." Karl sighed. "Next time I'll get into something like this, I'll make sure I'll know every little detail there is to know. Especially about how to get there!"

Eduard gave him a sidelong glance, but instead of continuing the subject, he said, "You got a closer look at that map than I did. Are you sure you can find the place now?"

"I think so. There's the main road. Turn left for Schleswig."

They drove on in silence again, first through the city of Kiel, then through the industrial area, and finally through a flat, cold landscape, until Karl suddenly sat up. "That clump of trees there – that could be it!"

Eduard decelerated once they came closer, and indeed, there was a sign at the driveway saying, 'Dr. Richter's State Institution for Experimental Research'.

Eduard swung the truck into the majestic driveway, and brought it to a halt in front of the steps leading up to the grand entrance. "Well, here we are," he muttered, and glanced at his companion as he got out of the truck.

And glanced again. If it didn't sound so utterly crazy, he could have sworn it was a different guy...!

He quickly followed him up the stairs, and took a good look at the other man as he let the heavy brass knocker come down at the door.

"What are you staring at," the suddenly emerged character snarled.

He stepped back in alarm. "I... You..."

"And stop bumbling, you fool! Even my dog shows more Gestapo attitude than you do!"

Eduard pulled himself together. Clearly, _this_ was a part for which his companion was indeed well prepared. "Jawohl, Herr Major." And he saluted smartly.

"Paah!" The major turned his attention back to the door. "Now where are those imbeciles who run this place?" He let the knocker come down again. And again, and again, and...

The door was opened ajar, revealing a young man in a white doctor's frock. "Ja?"

"I need to speak to the person in charge of this place," the major snarled.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Of course I don't have an appointment! The Gestapo doesn't _need_ an appointment!" With a swift move he pushed the door open further and marched inside, with his aide in his wake. "Now who's in charge here – would that be this Dr. Richter?"

"Um..." Nervously, the young man closed the outside door behind him. "Yes. In charge. That would be Dr. Richter, Herr Leutnant."

"Herr _Major_, if you don't mind!" the Gestapo man corrected fiercely. "And go fetch this Dr. Richter of yours. Immediately!"

"Jawohl, Herr Major. Fetch Dr. Richter. Immediately!" The young man gallopped off. They heard his footsteps echoing on the stairs, and then resounding along a corridor above their heads.

And Eduard chuckled. "Whoa... that's what I call an impressive act, man!"

The major rounded on him in a flash. "What are you muttering about, Schiff? Shut up, you fool! I will tolerate none of your impertinence today!"

Eduard jumped automatically to attention. "Jawohl, Herr Major."

"Paah!" With his hands firmly clasped behind his back, the major started pacing the hall, and Eduard watched him from where he stood. It was almost inconceivable that this... this Gestapo monster was the same genial guy who had knelt in front of him this morning to alter his features. It was... eerie – yes, that was the word for it. As if he were possessed by some demon or other...

Once more the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and there was a self-important man, of elderly middle age, dressed in a white doctor's frock like his assistant. "I am Dr. Helmut Richter. What is it you want?"

The major stopped his infernal pacing and took in the man – slowly – from head to toe and back. "Ach so... You are Dr. Richter?" His voice carried the quality of a cat about to jump on its prey.

He walked up to the doctor and pulled out the fake orders Eduard's friend had prepared. "I am here on behalf of Colonel Thon, Gestapo Berlin, section four. I have orders to take five of the Unterkinder here to Berlin for a special experiment. Top secret."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, and accepted the paper the major held out to him. He unfolded it while keeping a furtive eye on the visitors, and quickly glanced through the contents. "I see." He looked up. "Well, of course you can have what I've got, but I'm afraid we've nearly run out of stock."

The major's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean – out of stock?"

"Well, you see..." The doctor handed back the orders and folded his arms over his chest in an obvious attempt to puff up his own importance. "Our experiments here have the goal of finding out which internal organs of the human body are mere leftover ballast from the evolution. We intend to find out which organs we can well do without. We take them out one by one, and monitor how the subjects adapt to the change. If no major problems occur, we take out another, and then another. Unfortunately, we are still in the early stages of our research, so many of our subjects cease to function relatively quickly – after only two or three experiments."

Karl was absolutely aghast, but he struggled to keep up his act. "So how many do you have left? How many 'experiments' did they go through?"

"The seven we have left are presently adjusting to the fourth experiment. However, the other twelve that participated in that same experiment yesterday have already ceased to function, and the condition of these remaining subjects is such that I do not expect them to keep functioning much longer either. But you're welcome to take them to Berlin. One never knows – they might just hold on long enough to serve your Colonel's purpose."

The major scowled, hoping to hide the torrent of his thoughts beneath his angry Gestapo façade. _Only__ seven __left. __Seven!__ Of __the __how __many? __Was __Julius __among __them?__ He __had __been __a__ strong __and __healthy __boy__ – __how __many __of __those __horrid__ '__experiments__' __had __he __had __to __suffer __through? __Oh, __the __hideous __things __this __guy __had __done... __Those __poor __kids! __It__'__d __almost __make __him__ wish __that __Julius __was __long __dead. __But __if __they __were __all __dying __anyway, __was __there __really __any __point __in __getting __them__ out __of __here?_

"Bring them here and put them in the truck. All of them." After all, even if Julius wasn't among them, these children deserved better than to die as inanimate 'subjects' in a laboratory.

"As you wish, Herr Major," the doctor agreed. "If you will wait here, I will have them ready in just a few minutes."

As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Eduard breathed, "Good God..."

Karl turned to face him – his nasty Gestapo persona totally gone. "I didn't _know_..." he choked out.

Eduard gulped. "How _could_ we know... I... I had never thought..." He stopped himself, unable to speak the unspeakable. "What are you going to do with these last ones then? If they're dying, like the guy said..."

Karl took a shaky breath. "At least we can let them die as human beings. Instead of guinea pigs."

A grim nod. "You're right. Let's get them out of here."

They waited in silence until they heard shuffling on the stairs. And the doctor's impatient voice demanding those in his company to hurry up and stop dawdling.

Karl gathered up the scraps of his act and went to await the little troop at the bottom of the stairs. "So – these are your remaining subjects, Herr Doctor?"

"Indeed, Herr Major. But as you see, it's not much I can offer you."

The children were indeed pale as death itself. They all had the distinct characteristics of the Down's Syndrome, but with their heads shaved bald, and their eyes completely devoid of any expression, he couldn't begin to guess whether or not Julius was among them.

Karl repressed a shudder. The children were almost like zombies, so pale and apathic...

Dr. Richter herded the small group down the corridor, and outside to the back of the waiting truck. Eduard was there to lift them into the truck. But instead of seeking out the comfort of the benches and the blankets, the poor creatures simply collapsed right where he put them down. There was something so fatalistic over them... Were they even aware of their surroundings? Of what was happening to them?

"When is the next shipment due?" the major inquired with Dr. Richter.

"Next Tuesday," the doctor obligingly replied.

"Good. If this miserable bunch proves to be unsatisfactory for Colonel Thon's experiment, I will be back next week for a fresh batch."

A crisp Heil Hitler greeting, and the major climbed into the back of the truck, too. "Drive on, Schiff. I'll keep an eye on these things."

* * *

It was less than an hour's drive to Father Werner's friend in Neustadt. But it may well have been the longest hour in young Karl Langenscheidt's life.

His first self-appointed task was to make the children as comfortable as possible. They had brought some blankets to that end, and he carefully wrapped those around their limp, overalls-covered bodies. He tried to talk to them – to tell them that they were going to stay with a really nice man tonight, and that everything would be alright. There was no need to be afraid – they'd soon be home now. Perhaps if they could tell him their names, or maybe what town they came from?

If poor Julius was anything to go by, it was likely that most of these children would be able to answer such a question – most of them were older than Julius by the looks of it.

But no matter what he tried, the children remained completely unresponsive. They just stared off into the distance with those empty eyes, and neither words nor physical contact seemed to get through to them.

When they finally reached the modest parish hall in Neustadt, the elderly priest came out of the house and directed Eduard to bring the truck around to the shed behind the house. He closed the doors behind them, and once the paraffin lamp he carried was lit, Karl and Eduard alighted from the truck.

"I am glad you succeeded," was the first thing the priest said. "I am Father Kilius. How are the children?"

The two would-be Gestapomen exchanged a glance. "Not good," Karl replied with a sigh. "They're all dying. Those experiments..." He gulped – hard – before he could bring himself to briefly relate what they had learned.

Father Kilius crossed himself. "I had heard of these things happening, yes. But I just... I just couldn't believe it." He walked over to the back of the truck. "Let's get them more comfortable first. There are some old mattresses over there in the corner." He climbed into the truck and gently lifted up the nearest child.

And froze.

He listened for a breathing, felt for a pulse. But there was none.

He put the poor child down again, passed his hand over the staring eyes to close them, crossed himself, and folded the little hands over the small chest. "This one is already with God."

In powerless frustration, Karl spun around and punched the wall of the shed with enough force to bruise his knuckles.

But immediately, he felt Eduard's hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy now. Getting angry won't help these kids."

Karl turned back to him, his eyes both flashing with anger and brimming with tears. "_Nothing_ can help them anymore! If only we hadn't waited so long! We should have gone right away – last week! And..."

"And got nowhere! We needed those uniforms, and we needed those orders. Without those, we would have accomplished absolutely nothing!"

"But if...!"

"No buts. We did what we could. But sometimes, that's simply not enough. All we can do is accept it, and try to do better next time. But getting angry about it is a waste of energy. We can't go back and change things. So cool it – now!" he added as he felt his companion's muscles tense to tear himself away.

But the guy just pulled himself free and stalked back to the truck to help Father Kilius offload the children.

And Eduard reflected that Hans Beerbaum – or whatever his name was – was probably a fair bit younger than the image he had presented to Olaf and himself so far. Of course, with his skills as a make-up artist... It certainly was a highly useful talent in this business. And the boy sure was both inventive and brave, and had his heart in the right place. He was just too rash and impulsive in his actions to be able to survive long in the threatening jungle of Nazi Germany. Still, with a little coaching...?

He joined the others in the gloomy task of offloading the children. Two more turned out to have died on the way – a third one blew out his last breath in the arms of Father Kilius.

How much longer would the remaining three still hold on? Long enough to make it to Denmark tonight, or...? But even if they did, would their chances of survival be any better?

As Eduard watched the good Father tuck in the blankets around the three survivors, he heard his young companion mutter between clenched teeth, "I want to go back there and blow up the whole place..."

Eduard looked at him. Rash and impulsive alright. "How? Did you bring any explosives?"

Karl shrugged, and for a moment they were both silent, and watched how Father Kilius crossed himself once more, and folded little white hands across an unmoving chest as if in prayer.

"I'll see to it that these children get a proper funeral," Father Kilius said quietly. "Do you guys know any names or anything?"

Both Eduard and Karl shook their head. And in a sudden flare of anger over the hideous atrocity committed to these kids, Eduard pulled his young comrade aside – out of earshot from the priest. "Blowing up the place we won't manage tonight," he muttered. "But there is something we _can_ do."

Shortly before midnight, the entire Richter's State Institution for Experimental Research went up in flames. The strong stench of petrol clearly pointed towards deliberate arson, and indeed, two suspicious sets of footprints were found on the grounds.

But the culprits were never found.

And if Oskar Danzig could barely keep his eyes open at rehearsal the following day, surely that could be ascribed to mere coincidence...

* * *

.

_Author's note: I've been told that these kind of experiments really were quite the rage around that time. And they were definitely not limited to Nazi Germany. But of course the whole Richter Institute itself is entirely fictional._

_Anyway, the next chapter is bound to be more light-hearted, as we are to meet our first acquaintance from Stalag 13! (Not that I've started on it yet...)_


	11. Marya

The question was now: what should he tell Klaus and Luise?

And how? This wasn't the kind of news you could drop on parents by telephone, or even in writing. But it was two days to go from Berlin to Mönchengladbach and back, and with the show opening this weekend, not even Oskar Danzig himself could expect to be granted a two days' leave.

Unable to solve the dilemma, he went to seek Father Werner's advice. And got rather more than he bargained for.

"There you are! Your friend has been looking for you!"

Karl frowned. "My friend? Who?"

Father Werner chuckled. "I have no idea what you guys called each other. But I mean the one who accompanied you to Kiel."

"Oh!" Karl sighed. This could get complicated. "What did he want?"

"I don't know. He said he wanted to talk to you. He had been over at your place, but the landlady had told him you'd moved out. So he came to ask me instead."

Of course he'd moved out. He'd only taken up lodgings in that boarding house to prevent his unknown allies from finding out who he really was. And the only way to keep that up was...

"Where can I find him?"

"Café Brunn, in the Wasnerstraβe. He told me you could tell me a day and time, and he'd find a way to be there."

A sigh. "Alright – Tuesday morning, ten o'clock." He hesitated. "Is that place open that early, do you think?"

"I would think so. They serve a good breakfast there." Father Werner chuckled. "Believe me – I know. But with that settled, what can I do for _you_?"

Karl told him of his problem, and was relieved to learn there was a reasonable solution after all. "Why don't you tell another one of your relatives of your findings? Or at least the parts you want them to know. Someone who lives closer to Julius' parents, and can go and tell them in person?"

Relief washed over young Karl's face. "Of course – why didn't I think of that myself?"

Father Werner smiled. "Maybe because you were too closely involved. But how about your uncle – Frank Geisler? Does he live anywhere close to them? For it might be wise to ask someone who has some experience in counselling to take this news to Julius' parents. It certainly is not an easy message."

Karl took Father Werner's advice to heart, and drafted up a letter to his godfather with the inconspicuous story of 'being in the Kiel area' and having gone to visit Julius at the institute – only to uncover the house of horrors Eduard and he had found. '_I__ know __it__'__s __not __a __pleasant __task, __but __could __you __please __go __and __tell __Klaus__ and __Luise? __I__'__d __do __it __myself, __but __with __the __demands __of __my __work __here, __it__'__d __be __weeks __before __I __can __get __away __to __Mönchengladbach __to __tell __them __in __person. __But __I __think __they __should __know__ – __although __I__'__m __not __sure __whether __it __would __be __a__ good __idea __to __tell __them__ all __the __details._'

He hesitated. Should he mention meeting Uncle Frank's old friend from the seminary, or...? But he decided not to. Better save that for a more pleasant occasion.

With that chapter more or less closed, he went to meet Eduard in the same disguise in which they had first made their acquaintance. The café was easily found, and Eduard was already there, enjoying a cup of coffee.

The two men shook hands, and Karl gestured to the barkeeper for another coffee.

"I was rather surprised at your 'Tuesday morning, ten o'clock'," Eduard opened their discourse. "But then I realized that working hours in the theatre probably are a bit unorthodox."

"I hope the time wasn't too inconvenient?" Karl inquired as he accepted his coffee.

"No, not at all. I'm a travelling salesman, so I'm not restricted to predefined breaks." He watched the other man stir his coffee. "I wanted to talk to you about last week," he continued when Karl put down his teaspoon.

Karl raised an eyebrow and quickly glanced around. "Here?" There were at least a dozen other customers in the room.

"It's okay. It's safe here," Eduard assured him.

"How do you know?"

"Because I do."

Karl gave him a more than skeptical look at that, and Eduard explained, "The proprietor of this place is a good friend of mine. He'd warn me immediately if an unknown customer were to come in."

Karl wasn't quite convinced that such would exclude every possibility of eavesdropping by the wrong people, but he decided that if he could trust Eduard to know what he was doing all the way out in Kiel, he had no reason to doubt the man's judgement in his hometown. "Alright. What's the problem?"

Eduard visibly relaxed. "Not a problem really. But with what we did last week, and a few things you said, I thought I'd sound you on whether or not you'd be willing to do things like that on a more regular basis."

Karl kept his face carefully neutral as Eduard searched it.

"It's quite okay if you just wanted to do it for your nephew," he continued. "And if you want to leave it at that, that's fine with me. Then we'll just finish our coffee and each go our own way."

Still no reaction. But underneath his pokerface, Karl's brain was working up a fever. Doing things like that on a more regular basis? Did he mean rescuing innocent people from the Nazis? Burn down such institutes of horror? Of course – even though _he_ had worked alone so far in helping people to get away, it was highly unlikely that he was the only sound mind in Berlin to stand up against Hitler's sick measures. It was just that you had to be so secretive about these things that... But considering Eduard's friends – a guy who could produce believable fake Gestapo orders, and Olaf who could get hold of uniforms – how much more could they accomplish by working together?

He took a good breath. "I'm in. This isn't just about Julius."

Eduard had a grave smile. "It sure isn't."

They studied each other for a moment.

"So what do you do?" Karl asked at last.

Eduard's face turned into a hard mask. "Anything we can to obstruct the party and to stop their crimes."

Karl was visibly impressed by the man's intensity. Could it be that he had some personal grievances with the party as well?

But Eduard already continued. "There is one thing however that I want to make crystal clear: _this __is __not __a__ game_," he said, emphasizing every word. "We're not playing cops and robbers – this is for real. Real people's lives are at stake here, as you've seen for yourself in Kiel last week. And that is including your own. For in defending other people's lives, you may very well _lose_ your own. Is that clear?"

Karl's mouth was a grim line. "Believe me, I know. Even before Kiel, I was already 'a man who had seen too much'."

Another probing look. "Alright. I have faith in Father Werner's judgement, and from what I've seen from you so far, I'm prepared to have faith in you as well." A hand was proffered across the table. "Wilhelm Schattner is the name."

A split second decision was necessary. And so strong was his acquired reflex to shield his true identity from trouble that almost without thinking he reciprocated the handshake, introducing himself as...

"Oskar Danzig."

He immediately regretted it when he saw Schattner's eyes widen in surprise. "Oskar _Danzig_? You mean _the_ Oskar Danzig?"

The moment had been too solemn to now say that he'd been kidding, hadn't it? And _two_ make-up artists by the same name...?

So he nodded.

"Holy cow!" Schattner breathed, and he searched the other man's face. "I would never have thought..." His face closed as if he needed to adjust his thoughts. It didn't take particularly long. "My friend, you're a real godsend!"

Karl raised his eyebrows. "Why? Were you in need of a female impersonator?"

"Well, we never really considered that option, but if you'd be willing to do it, it would be the perfect solution!" He lowered his voice and continued, "There is this Gestapo colonel – his name is Pfitzmann. Alfred Pfitzmann. He's the one who pulls all the major strings in the Gestapo. A beast, really. Any despicable Gestapo raid, and you can be sure that he's behind it." He paused to let this sink in with his audience of one. "Now we've had this idea to try and learn of his plans _before_ he puts them into action, so that we may help innocent people to get away in time. And we figure that should be possible with the help of a medium."

"A medium?"

"Yes. Or an astrologer or something like that. And preferably a female of course, since Pfitzmann is a bachelor – even though that's exactly why we've been hesitant leaving a real woman at his mercy. And of course most of these medium people are females."

Karl mulled that over. Never having been into the nonsense of astrology and mediums, he'd have to take Schattner's word on that for now. But it was no secret that the Führer was a great believer, and following his example, so were his bootlicking Nazi subordinates. The plan did seem sound indeed, except...

"It would only work a few times though. If his plans go awry every time he tells them to this medium, he'll soon figure out the connection, and that's the end of the medium."

"Of course. We'd have to be selective in what we'd take on, to make the set-up last as long as possible."

"And once he does figure out..."

"You'd have a much better chance defending yourself than a real woman would. And the room we could use for it has a secret passageway, so you should be able to escape as well. Which again would give _you_ a much better chance anyway – you transform yourself back to a man, and they'll look right past you searching for a woman."

That was true. And the idea of impersonating a woman in order to thwart and fool the Nazis was actually quite appealing.

A grin appeared on his face. "Alright, I'll do it. As long as we can fit the medium's opening hours around my work schedule – which means it will mostly be mornings. And as long as you grant me some time to study up on the subject. For I don't know the first thing about that stuff, and it'd be kind of awkward if those dedicated believers find me blundering through their theories."

"Great." Schattner smiled. "So let's work out the details. For example, can you do any exotic accents?"

* * *

Two weeks later, a full page advertisement appeared on the back of the Berliner Zeitung, acquainting the city with the sensational abilities of a new Russian medium: the mysterious Marya. Accompanied by a picture of a very seductive woman, the public was informed that she was skilled not only in reading the stars in the sky, the lines in your hand and the bumps on your head, but also communicated freely with the spirits of the dead. Opening hours Mondays 3 p.m. – 9 p.m., Wednesdays and Fridays 10 a.m. – 1 p.m. above Fischer's Fish Shop in the Kartnerstraβe.

The trap was set...

* * *

Business turned out to be surprisingly good. Apparently lots of people felt the need to be reassured, for Marya was seldom without a customer for more than ten minutes in a row.

And her fame grew quickly. But Karl figured this was mainly due to people's transparency. For the majority of his customers it was glaringly obvious what they wanted to hear. And Karl took innocent delight in telling pleasant people something they wanted to hear, and predicting doom to those he took an instant dislike to. And Marya's fees were established according to the same standards.

Several weeks passed that way before the little spying-mirror at the entrance revealed that the mysterious Marya had finally caught the interest of some Nazi officer.

Quickly, Karl laid aside his book on Chinese astrology and went into the Marya mode. "Enter," she called with the deeper, carefully modulated voice he used for this creation.

With the flick of a switch, he unlocked the door and peered at the new visitor from under Marya's long eyelashes. It wasn't Pfitzmann (he had seen a few pictures of the guy), but a Gestapo officer nonetheless. Well, no harm in trying to thwart this guy's plans either, was there?

"Sit down," Marya told the man.

Nervously, he did as he was told, and Marya studied him in silence for a few minutes. It only made him more jumpy.

"Well," she drawled at last. "What can I do for you?"

A look of surprise crossed the man's face. "Don't you know?"

Marya spread out her hands. "I read stars, lines, bumps – not minds."

"Ach so... Yes. Forgive me, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected. "Everybody calls me Marya."

"Of course – Marya." He fell silent again.

"So, what is it you would like to know?"

"Um... well..." The guy floundered a bit. "It is a rather delicate question. A rather _personal_ question, I should say."

A feline smile. "I can be as discreet as need be," Marya assured him.

He glanced at her. "Good – good. Well, um... what I wanted to ask was..." He cleared his throat. "You see, Fräul... Marya, I have always been single, and... and..."

"Yes?" Always let the client state his question himself, no matter how obvious his query seems to be.

"Well, I would like to know if... if there'd be any future... you know, _happiness_ for me. A wife... a few children..."

Those were the easier questions. "Let me see your hand. No, the other." She studied the lines in its palm for a while, tracing the dominant ones with her little finger. Then she asked his exact birthdate, and went over to the big chart on the wall to examine that, too. _Reasonably __handsome__ guy, __mid__ twenties, __no __clear __streak __of __cruelty... __Yeah, __he__ should __be __alright._

So, "Congratulations!" she exclaimed, and turned back to her client with the air of a quizmaster announcing the winner. "_You_ will be able to call yourself both 'husband' and 'father' within the next three years!" That should give him some leeway.

A bit too much leeway for the man's taste apparently. His face – at first beaming with delight – fell back to misery. "Three _years_...?"

Marya tilted her head. "Well, these things don't happen overnight, you know."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." A sigh of resignation. Then, "But you're absolutely sure that I _will_...?"

An enigmatic smile. "The stars don't lie."

"No – no, of course they don't." He seemed relieved by the realization, and a hesitant smile worked its way to the surface. "Then at least I can look forward to happiness to come." He got up, bowed and clicked his heels together. "Danke. Danke vielmals, Fräulein."

"Marya," the lady corrected. "And aren't you forgetting something?"

He looked puzzled as she came up to him and fingered the lapel of his overcoat. "What am I forgetting, Fr... Marya?"

Another seductive hand on his chest. "The stars work for free, mein Herr, but Marya needs some bread on the table."

He gulped uneasily. "Oh! Yes. Of course." He took out his wallet and hesitated over a ten mark note. "Would this be...?"

"Better make it twenty, to ensure the stars' favour for the upcoming three years."

"Of course." Two ten mark notes changed hands, and with another bow and click of the heels, the lovelorn Gestapoman went his way.

And Karl grinned. After all, one way of enticing this Pfitzmann to come here was to ingratiate Marya with other Nazi officers. No publicity as powerful as word of mouth. So if he told his Nazi clients pretty much what they wanted to hear (within reasonable boundaries, that is), there was a fair chance that one day, he would find this Colonel Pfitzmann on his doorstep, too.

* * *

For several days, his hours as Marya resumed their previous routine: mothers wanting to know about their children's future, men wanting to know about possible upcoming promotions, young lovers wanting to know if they were destined for one another, wives wanting to know about cheating husbands, fathers wanting to know about their daughters' secret boy-friends, young married women wanting to know about future babies, businessmen seeking assurance that their investments would pay off, young people wanting to be promised a good-looking and well-to-do future partner...

And it wasn't until the following week that another Gestapo officer made his way up the stairs to Marya's studio above Fischer's Fish Shop.

She let him in and asked-ordered him to sit down. "What can I do for you today?"

The man sighed. "I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I was hoping you might give me some advice on how to get out of it."

"Of course." Marya spread out her hands in an inviting gesture. "Tell me about your 'pickle', and then we shall see what the stars have to say on the matter."

"But you _will_ keep this knowledge to yourself, won't you?" he insisted vehemently. "It is of the _utmost_ importance that this does..."

She waved away his worries with the usual feline smile. "I assure you I can be as discreet as need be."

He narrowed his eyes – then nodded. And explained that he had witnessed his superior officer embezzle money from the party's funds. "A _lot_ of money actually. Now tell me, Fräulein..."

"Marya," the lady interrupted. "Everybody calls me Marya."

"Verzeihung, Fräulein. Now tell me, Marya, should I denounce my superior officer, or not? Would it gain me the promotion that is so long overdue, or would it be professional suicide?"

"Let me see your hand." She took hold of his wrist and studied the lines of his hand with a grave mien. "Your lifeline is not particularly long," she commented.

The man paled. "What does that mean?"

A shrug. "Merely that you won't live till a hundred." She got up and walked over to the astrology chart on the wall. "And what is your birthdate?"

"January 19th."

"Ah – a late Capricorn. And the year?"

"1887."

"Good. Now let me see what the stars have in store for you." Eyes and fingers flew over the large chart with ever increasing speed. Until finally, the mysterious Marya pulled away with a small gasp.

"What? What is it?" the officer demanded.

"The stars – they are not favourable to you in this matter," Marya breathed.

"They are not? You mean I...?"

Sewing dissension in the ranks sure wouldn't help the party. "You'd better keep your nose out of this, and pretend nothing is the matter. Someone else will call this man on it in the foreseeable future. And exposing this man is a necessity for him to rise in the ranks in the way the stars predict. So in order to keep the flow of the future intact and ensure _his_ promotion, _you_ will have to keep quiet!"

A hesitation. "I do?"

Marya shrugged. "Unless you want to make your lifeline even shorter of course."

"No! No!" Panic crept into the man's voice. "I will do as you say – I promise! I will not denounce him – I won't!"

"Good." A purring smile. "For we really do not want to mess around with the future, do we?"

"No! Definitely not!" The man got up and buttoned up his overcoat. "Thank you _so_ much for warning me, Fräulein."

"Marya," she corrected with emphasis, but he didn't hear her.

"Imagine if I'd gone ahead and exposed him... It would have been suicide!_ Literally_!"

He reached for the door, but Marya was there before him. "Aren't you forgetting something, cutie pie?"

* * *

Slowly, the trickle of Gestapo and other Nazi clients grew, and occasionally, Karl was able to tip off Schattner on something the resistance group might want to deal with. They always tried to plan their actions now in a way that would allow their master of disguises to come and give each of its participants a complete make-over, and Karl quickly got to know all the members of the group.

There were about a dozen of them, he learned – including Olaf, Herr Fischer from the fish shop, and the proprietor of Café Brunn. Their ages ranged from his own to pensionable, and he was quite surprised to learn that even a few women were active participants in the resistance work – albeit in more supporting roles. The fake Gestapo orders for Kiel for example turned out to have been produced by Herr Fischer's wife.

In between these make-up jobs, Danzig's shows, Marya's sessions, his own helping Jews and handicapped people to get out of the country and the occasional nocturnal resistance raid in which he got to participate, Karl Langenscheidt had a pretty busy life.

But all that meant nothing to the two officers who swiftly took the stairs up to Marya's studio one Monday evening, ignoring the protests from other waiting customers and simply forced the lock and barged in on a session with an elderly housewife.

Marya was instantly on her feet. "What is the meaning of this? Get out and wait for your turn!" Her client hovered back against the wall, too petrified to speak. And Karl himself grabbed the back of Marya's chair to keep his hands from trembling. He wasn't aware of anything seriously sensitive or incriminating or really important that he'd recently passed on to Schattner, so why were these two officers here? Not Gestapo fortunately, but still...

One of the officers opened his mouth. "Fräulein, I have..."

"Marya!" Automatically, he sought comfort in the familiar charade.

The officer nodded. "Fräulein Marya, I..."

"Not _Fräulein_ Marya – just _Marya_, understood? Now what are you doing here – interrupting my sessions, upsetting my clients?"

"Fräulein... I mean, _Marya_, I... we have orders to take you to..."

"I don't take orders from _anyone_ – I'm not in the army!"

"But Fräulein... I mean Maria – _Marya_... We have orders from the..."

"I don't care about your orders. Now get out!"

The two men looked at each other. "Alright. If that's how she wants it?" And they stepped forward almost synchronically, closed their hands around Marya's upper arms and dragged the furiously clawing and kicking lady out of her studio.

The clients on the stairs – the few who hadn't fled yet – anxiously backed out of the way as the popular and successful Russian astrologer was hauled down the stairs. The outside door was kicked shut, car doors slammed and a motor was brought to life.

Within seconds, the roar faded in the distance.

* * *

.

_Author's note: As many of you will have noticed, several of Marya's lines in her 'work' as astrologer in this story have been borrowed from her introductory double episode _A Tiger Hunt in Paris_, where she was working along similar lines to ensnare Colonel Beckscheider._


	12. Hitler!

_Author's note: Please keep in mind that what is being said about the Jews in this chapter is an attempt to reflect the views of a thorough-bred Nazi. These derogatory remarks do in no way represent my own opinion on the Jewish people._

.

* * *

_Within seconds, the roar faded in the distance._

.

Hiding fear behind indignation, Marya straightened herself and glared at the uniformed captor sitting next to her. "What is the meaning of this?"

He glanced at her. "Don't worry, Fräulein. You'll..."

"Marya!"

"Marya, yes. But don't worry. You'll be fine."

Marya rolled her eyes. "_Now_ he tells me...! So where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Thanks. You're a great help." Marya crossed her arms and her legs and petulantly turned to the window. Only to realize that the windows were blinded.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, while Karl tried to reason away his fear. _They haven't even handcuffed me. No gun in sight. Seems they just want to take me somewhere – or rather, take Marya somewhere. To see someone? Must be a real big shot if he thinks this is an acceptable way of inviting people over for tea. The car certainly is luxurious enough. And surely they would have handcuffed me if they'd take me to the Gestapo for questioning or something?_

The blind drive seemed to take ages. Once Karl had more or less calmed down his nerves, Marya began to try and draw out her captor again, if only to pass the time. But the guy just sat there next to her, as forthcoming as a statue, and Karl didn't quite dare to risk teasing the man into a more communicative mood.

But at last, the humming of the car tyres on tarmac was replaced by the scrunching sound of pebbles being planished. A driveway?

If so, it was a pretty long one, but in the end the car took a mild curve and came to a halt.

Karl tried his hardest to ignore how sweaty his hands were. Focusing on keeping up Marya's flippant character seemed to be the only way to stay on top of his nerves, so he clung to it in a fearful desperation he had never felt before.

What would await him outside the car?

Well, here was the answer: the car door was opened and a voice requested, "Aussteigen, bitte."

Warily, Karl got out with the usual grace of Marya. Immediately she was taken by the arm and led to a brightly lit entrance. The few moments in the twilight of the evening barely allowed him to register that he was in the country, entering a majestic ivy-covered country-house hidden among large trees.

And then he was inside. And caught himself gaping at the excessive riches displayed: thick woollen carpets, masterful paintings, lifelike sculptures, oakwood panels, velvet chairs, intricate alto-relievos, goldplate and goldpaint wherever possible – and all that lit by two kingsize crystal chandeliers.

He took a deep breath to compose himself and regain his Marya charade. (Fortunately, neither of his captors seemed to have noticed his unpardonable break of character...)

"So – where are we?" Marya demanded as she was taken into a small room.

"Just a moment, Fräulein."

"Marya!"

"Yes, yes – Marya." He turned her towards him. "If you'll excuse me, Fr... Marya?"

Marya threw her hands up in the air. "Why not? Seeing that you've already brought me this far without as much as a bye or a leave."

The man did not reply, and instead began to give their prisoner-guest a thorough body search.

As Marya wriggled under the man's hands pretending he was tickling her, Karl had to fight down another bolt of looming panic. What if they noticed his boobs were fake? Or the little appendage that marked the most obvious difference between men and women?

But whether it was Marya's distracting him, or the fact that one tends to see what one _expects_ to find, the fake boobs passed inspection without further ado, and the man was simply not indecent enough to grope Marya's private parts. Good for him.

"Alright. Let's go," the other one said.

"Now wait a minute!" Marya protested. "You still haven't told me where we're going and what you want from me!"

"It will all be perfectly clear to you in a moment, Fräulein."

"It's Marya! And..."

They stopped in front of a set of ivory coloured double doors. Two guards saluted, and a lackey in powdered wig and pink livery opened the doors for them and announced pompously, "Mein Führer, the lady Marya for you."

* * *

Marya nearly tripped in astonishment as she was ushered into the room, with Karl not quite succeeding in catching his dropping jaw.

_The Führer?_

Indeed: the Führer. As large – or as small – as life, lounging on an overstuffed red velvet sofa with a glass of orange juice in his hand. "Ach so! Fräulein Marya! Kommen Sie herein." He sat up and eyed his guest with an expert eye.

Karl gulped down his instant loathing of the man as Marya struck a provocative pose and smiled her feline smile. "Guten Abend, Herr Führer. I must say this is a surprise." Boy, was it a surprise...

The Führer smiled. "The pleasure is all mine, I hope. Komm!" He patted the couch. "Setzen Sie sich hier neben mir."

It was like cuddling up to a smiling vulture. With the forthrighteousness so characteristic for a man who considers himself to be the leader of the world, Hitler put his arm around Marya's shoulders and peered into her eyes. "I have sent for you because I have heard of your reputation. And there are a few matters of some importance on which I'd like to consult your knowledge of the stars."

"Really? You flatter me." Marya traced the Führer's ear, while Karl furiously tried to assess his situation and possible scenarios veering off from this point.

First of all, here he was, practically lying in the arms of the Führer. If the man would become too bold, he'd either discover the truth about Marya, or_ he_ would have to rebuff the man's advances. Neither scenario was very promising for Karl Langenscheidt's life expectancy.

Secondly, clearly Marya's reputation as astrologer had reached the man, and he wanted advice on something. Well, if he'd let Karl-Marya live that long, he'd get it!

And the most frustrating of all: here he was in the scenario of his dreams, with that monstrosity of a Führer at his fingertips – and without even a ghost of a chance of getting him out of the way! He didn't carry any weapons, and even if he'd try to commit the act with a hairpin and his bare hands, he'd be hauled off before accomplishing anything, thanks to the two stoic guards in the corner of the room!

The only thing to do apparently was to play along, and try and keep the monster from getting too pushy with his female guest. Mixing Marya with Danzig's careful balance of flirtation and mysterious aloofness might just do the trick.

Herr Hitler seemed indeed to be thinking in that direction, for Marya's rather innocent opening moves were deftly reciprocated. And Karl had to repress an involuntary shudder. Sure – he had been working as a female impersonator long enough to have gotten over his instinctive disgust of a man fondling him. But there are men and there are men...

Better distract the guy and get to the point. "So – what were these matters of importance you wanted to see me about?"

"Why such a hurry, my dear?" A hand crept towards Marya's décolleté. "We can well get to know one another first, can't we?"

Oh brother... "But of course." She took the creeping fingers in her hand before they went too far. They were surprisingly cold, and he wondered fleetingly if perhaps the bloody Führer wasn't really human. That would certainly explain a few things...

She spread the fingers and examined them with interest. Short and stocky, with square, well-kept nails. Obviously manicured – ha!

But there came the other hand creeping towards the off-limits area. How was he going to...?

Quickly, she turned over the wrist she held. And puckered her lips in surprise. "My, your lifeline ends very abruptly, mein Herr."

Hitler shot upright in alarm and pulled back his hand to study it himself. "I'm going to get killed tomorrow – I _knew_ I would! That Bunterberg, I shall...!"

"I didn't say it would end _tomorrow_." Marya leaned back and shook her hair out of her face with renewed confidence.

"Was?" Hitler's rant was brought up short.

"I merely observed that it would end _abruptly_. Whether that would happen tomorrow or in the twenty-first century is an entirely different matter."

The hand was shoved in front of her face again. "Then what _does_ it mean?"

With a superior little smile, Marya took it and studied it – long and careful. "It ends abruptly, yes. But that doesn't automatically mean you'll be murdered. It might as well end with a stroke. Or a heart attack." The little man paled before her eyes. "All this means is that your death will be swift. You will not suffer the indignity of a lingering disease weakening and crippling you for years." She gauged his expression. "That is good news, is it not? The world will always remember you as the strong and forceful leader. Any great man would _die_ to be remembered like that!"

"Ja. Ja natürlich." Hitler got a hold of himself again. "So what does it say about tomorrow?"

A raised eyebrow. "What's so special about tomorrow?"

"I have this meeting with my general staff. And I have a very bad feeling about it." He sighed a little. "My court astrologer keeps telling me everything will be alright. But I can't ignore this bad feeling, so I sent her away and sent for you. So tell me – what's going to happen tomorrow?"

Marya had a graceful shrug. "That is not something I can read from your hand or from the bumps on your head. Do you have your chart laid out somewhere?"

"Yes. Yes. But does my lifeline end tomorrow, or...?"

Marya gracefully stretched out her arm to invite back his hand. "No. I do not think so." Hey, if he was wrong, what trouble could a dead Hitler cause him? "Your lifeline is fairly long. So if there would be an attack on you tomorrow, you would certainly survive."

"And not be rendered a cripple for the rest of my life," the Führer stated with anxious confidence. "You just said so yourself – I would not suffer of some lingering disease."

"Nothing that will cause your death, no." Gee, this guy was tricky. Oh well, in the worst case scenario (that is, if he got out of this place alive in the first place), Marya could always disappear.

Hitler narrowed his eyes at her. "But you said...?"

"I said what I said." Marya got up. "Now where is this chart? I hope your court astrologer did a good job on it?"

"Oh, yes! Come. I will show you." The monster took her by the elbow – with Marya wearing high heels, he barely came to her chin – and led her to a door in the back of the room. It turned out to lead to an office, as excessively decorated as the rest of the mansion.

A nod to the two guards was enough to have them follow their leader and position themselves in the doorway, giving Karl the disconcerting sensation of being trapped.

But he had to keep his head now. Whatever it took to get out of this house alive.

And there was Hitler's personalized astrology chart, up on the wall facing the oversized mahogany desk. At a glance, Karl saw that it was drawn up to the letter of the textbook specifics. Good – that would prevent him from blundering all too blatantly.

"Here you are, Fräulein," Hitler gestured.

"Marya," the lady automatically corrected.

"Marya. Of course."

Slowly, Marya wandered over to the astrology chart. Playfully, she ran her finger over the desktop, the bookshelf, the top of the wall-panels... "Aha! Look!" She held a finger under Hitler's nose. "Dust! This place could do with a good scrub. Or did you sack your cleaning-lady as well?"

The Führer reddened a little. "I haven't got a cleaning-lady. It's a man who does the cleaning around here."

Marya rolled her eyes. "A man? What do men know about cleaning? All they can do is make things dirty!"

The Führer seemed to steam up a little at that, so with exaggerated flourish, Marya turned to the chart on the wall in order to deflect his wrath. "Let me see... Tomorrow." Her eyes and fingers followed the intricate patterns, faster and faster, until finally she pulled away.

"And?" Hitler prompted.

"Someone is definitely planning an attack on your life in the very near future," Marya confirmed.

"I knew it!" Hitler started pacing with his thumb in his buckle.

"But the damage this attack will do will not impair you in the least," Marya continued. (Hey, if he was wrong, Marya would simply cease to exist – literally.) "You will continue to govern the Thousand Year Reich for many years to come."

"I will?" The man stopped pacing, and a longing little smile adorned his features. "Will it be big? Will I govern the whole world? Perhaps I should invade Austria and Poland tomorrow, should I?"

Marya blinked. "That would not be wise," she said flatly. Who ever said anything about going to war again? Hadn't the German people suffered enough the last time around?

"It wouldn't? Are you sure? We do need the Lebensraum (1), you know," was the Führer's dismayed reaction.

"Yes, I'm sure it would not be wise." Marya went back to the chart and pointed out a few knots. "You see how these lines intersect? The Thousand Year Reich will be a success, but it is a very delicate balance. _Very _delicate. Act in haste, and it will just fall to pieces around you."

Hitler's face fell. "Then what do you suggest?"

Marya glanced at him. "Not _me_, Herr Führer. It's the stars that suggest."

"Yes, yes. So what do the stars suggest?"

Marya turned to him and crossed her arms. "To take it slowly. Make sure the foundation is strong before you start building and expanding the Reich. Remember the story of the three little pigs?"

Hitler's face was one big question mark.

"Those who built their houses quickly, with inferior materials like straw and wood," Marya explained, "Their houses didn't hold. But the house that was built with care and reason, and with the right materials – that house could withstand the storm."

Hitler took a moment to assimilate that. And sighed. "Pity. But I suppose the stars are right."

"Of course they are. How could they be wrong?" Marya put her hands on her hips and looked him over. "Anything else you wanted to know from the stars?"

The Führer started out of his reverie. "Was? Ja, actually there is." He began to pace again, back and forth, back and forth.

And Marya waited. And studied her nails. And waited. And glanced at the clock (it was just past 9.30 p.m.). And waited. And ran her finger over another bookshelf. And waited. And raised her eyebrow. And waited.

And finally, the Führer faced her again. "I'm sure you're aware of the severe problems those Jewish parasites are posing upon us."

Marya raised her other eyebrow. "And?"

"I've been trying to exterminate them, but it's going too slow. And it's too expensive and too cumbrous anyway."

Karl couldn't quite stop a shudder. Was the guy referring to that kind of massmurder he had accidentally been witness to last year?

But Hitler continued, "So I've come up with a more efficient solution: we could collect them in labour-camps. There they can be of some use – work for the good of the Third Reich until they drop. And that way, they'd even pretty much earn their own funeral." He looked at her expectantly. "What do you think? Will the general staff be in favour of this plan? Or do I have to prepare endless arguments to sell it to them? They can be so backward sometimes..."

Marya gave him a grave look, and slowly turned back to the chart on the wall. "Well, let's see what the stars have to say about it, shall we?"

The intricate game between eyes, fingers and lines repeated itself, until she shook her head and stepped back. "I am truly sorry, Herr Führer, but the stars do not look favourable upon this plan. Implementing it will be the death of the Thousand Year Reich before it even gets started."

"Was?" In three choleric steps, the monster stood next to his visitor. "Where do you see that?"

Karl fought down the urge to gulp. Were his astrology skills about to be exposed as a fraud, or...?

As usual, bluff was his only trumpcard. "It's all in this one fragile intersection. The Thousand Year Reich _will_ be a success – but as I said, it is a very delicate balance. There are numerous factors that could throw in a wrench. Only if you proceed with the utmost care and deliberation will the balance stay intact."

"Hmpf." Hitler frowned dangerously and glared at the offending intersection. Marya regarded him in silence.

Suddenly a fist slammed on the table. "But I want those stinking Jews out of the way! Those bloodsuckers are a menace to society, and I want them out – now!"

Marya folded her arms. "Well, surely there must be other ways to accomplish that."

The Führer was brought up short. "How? I've been rounding them up and exterminating them for over a year, but they're like mosquitos – kill one, and ten others pop up to harass you! I tell you, they're demons!" He grabbed her by the upper arms. "_How_ do I get rid of that vermin?"

Marya raised her eyebrows and untangled herself from him. "Please, Herr Führer, there is no need to get all emotional about it. Let's see what the stars advise you, okay?"

"Yes." Eagerly he peered at the complicated chart. "It really is of paramount importance that these beasts get out of the way. So tell me how to do it."

Marya studied the chart intently, while Karl furiously tried to come up with something that not only would appease the bloody Führer, but would save the Jews as well. He felt as if the fate of the entire Jewish population in Germany was suddenly placed in his hands. How had he ever ended up with that responsibility?

Maybe he should just keep it simple. "Here it is, in the way these lines split and come together again."

"Yes, yes! What does it mean?" Hitler's nose nearly touched the chart.

Slowly, Marya traced the line as she explained, "The Jews and the Third Reich will go separate ways for a while. The time is not ripe to eliminate them yet. So make them leave the glorious German Reich where there is no place for them." Better be a refugee than be dead... "Once the Thousand Year Reich begins to expand, they will know they have to move out of the way again. Until that great day when the Third Reich will comprise the whole Earth – that will be the day of reckoning for the Jews." At least it'd give them some respite – that is, if the Führer went along with this crazy scheme of course. And surely the other countries would never allow Hitler to conquer the _whole_ world.

She glanced sideways at the man. His face was contorted in a thoughtful but displeased frown.

"You mean I'll have to let them go?" he pouted at last.

"That's what the stars say, yes." There, blame it on the stars... "But as you see, the two lines do converge again. You _will_ have your way with them. Just be patient."

The Führer grunted. "I hate being patient."

Marya rolled her eyes. "Who doesn't? But if that's what the stars tell you..."

Another grunt, and Hitler stalked out of the room.

And Marya threw up her arms and followed him. "So what's next?" she inquired.

He glanced at her, his expression a pensive pout. "Nothing. Thank you for your insights. You have given me lots to think about, so I will not require your company any longer."

Karl tensed in fear as the Führer pulled a beautifully embroidered bell-chord by the door. Had he pushed his luck too far?

Instantly, the lackey appeared. "You rang, mein Führer?"

"Yes. Tell Polt and Quadflieg to take the lady home. I don't need her anymore tonight."

Karl let out a tiny little sigh of relief under the cover of the obsequious lackey in pink murmuring, "Jawohl, mein Führer."

The lackey gestured for Marya to follow him. And Karl did as he was told, but he couldn't resist the temptation of casting one last look back at the Führer. So close, and yet... The evil man sat brooding on the velvet couch, his chin resting in his hands. It seemed he had already forgotten about his visitor.

But then he was back in the luminous hall, and the ivory doors were pulled closed behind him without as much as a click.

"Wait here, please, Fräulein," the lackey told the lady.

Karl looked around as the lackey moved away. The bloody Führer was still within his reach – perhaps if he grabbed that ornamental sword there and burst back into the room...?

Quietly, he took a few steps down the hall towards the tempting sword on the wall.

But a cough from behind him froze him to the spot. Marya looked over her shoulder. Those two guards – of course, he'd seen them when he came in as well. Surely it couldn't be that easy to kill the Führer.

Marya's trademark feline smile and a little fluttering with the eyelashes did a lot to acquiesce the two men. "Just admiring the Führer's fabulous taste in decorating, boys," she purred, swinging her hips as she approached them.

One of the guards gulped, but the other stood his stern ground. "You are not allowed to move freely through this house, Fräulein. This is private property."

"And I am Marya, so don't call me 'Fräulein' again." She puckered her lips and blew a kiss at the blushing guard.

But suddenly, they all heard Hitler's voice from behind the ivory doors. It wasn't clear to whom he was speaking, but... "She's good, August. I mean _really_ good. She doesn't just say amen to whatever I say, like Fräulein Adenauer did. No, she really tells me what the _stars_ say, whether I like their advice or not! Oh, she's good...!"

Marya smiled. "Maybe you boys should come and see me, too, some time."

And there were the two officers that had dragged Marya over here this evening. "Fräulein? I mean, Marya? If you will come with us, please?"

Emboldened by the Führer's praise, Marya threw back her head. "I suppose I have no choice, do I? But you'd better take me straight back home, or I will personally file a complaint about you two with my good friend Adolf!"

The two men paled somewhat, and escorted her with all possible obligingness to the front door and outside.

Marya cast one last wink back at the two guards, and then tried to make out something in the dark as she crossed the few meters from the house to the car.

But there was really nothing to see. Coming from the brightly lit house, everything was pitchblack, though he did catch the rustle of trickling water nearby.

But there was the car, with its door wide open and its windows blinded, and any chance of getting some clues as to where Hitler's little palace was located was gone.

And after a long drive that was only enlightened by her relentless teasing of Polt and Quadflieg, an unscathed Marya was graciously dropped off in front of Fischer's Fish Shop in the Kartnerstraβe in Berlin, and was left to watch the luxurious black car take a left turn into the Königsallee.

And Karl heaved a sigh that seemed to originate all the way from his toes. "_Thank God_..."

* * *

.

(1_) _Lebensraum is a typical and infamous Nazi term. It translates more or less to "room to live", and was used to indicate that the superior Aryan race needed a lot of room in order to develop itself to the full extent. The Nazis saw no problem in confiscating/conquering entire countries from 'inferior' races in order to expand their own Lebensraum.

._  
_

_Author's note: So this was that infamous meeting with the Führer that was mentioned in the story The Key to Berchtesgaden - the meeting that enabled (ahem...) Danzig/Langenscheidt to determine whether the visiting Führer in Stalag 13 was the real one or not.__  
_


	13. Leader

Hitler never sent for Marya again. Who knows – perhaps he preferred to be played up to after all. But it was obvious that he was singing her praises wherever he went, for the number of generals and other big shots that came to seek Marya's advice suddenly skyrocketed.

Or... _seek_ her advice probably doesn't express the situation adequately. No – many of these bigwigs were far too conscious of their status to be seen entering an upstairs apartment above a lowly fish shop off the Königsallee. No, instead they sent their aides to fetch the lady and bring her to their beautiful villas in Grünewald or in the country.

And this presented a bit of a problem for Karl. On Mondays he could go gallivanting around as much as he wanted to, but on Marya's other business days he had to be back by 3 p.m. in order not to mess up his other life as the actor Oskar Danzig. And some of those big shot generals simply refused to acknowledge that a lady may have other duties to perform besides entertaining the crème de la crème of the Third Reich.

For that's what her job turned into more and more: a little metaphysics, and a lot of accompanying big shots to dinners and parties. They certainly weren't loath of having a long-legged beauty on their arm, and even showered her with dresses, shoes, jewelry, fur coats and stoles to boost their own importance with their colleagues. And Marya's playful refusal to sleep with them – with _any_ of them – only added to her allurements.

Step by step, by careful prodding and probing, Karl came to realize that with the Führer himself as her promotor, Marya could get away with practically anything – perhaps save for outright murder. And how many possibilities did that not open up?

He went to discuss the matter with Schattner one day over lunch in Café Brunn. And Schattner chuckled once the problem had been laid out for him. "And now you want _my_ advice as to which job to quit?"

Karl sighed. "I wouldn't want to quit either of them actually. I need the theatre job to keep the funds coming in to help the Jews to get away. And after what I said to Hitler that time, that's even more urgent. But the information I gather in the company of those generals is astounding."

"Invaluable," Schattner agreed. "Your inside information has already enabled us to thwart some of their worst plans."

"Exactly. And seeing them more often would give me a better chance of playing them off against each other, too. Maybe even blackmail them with the info I gather." A sudden embarrassed grimace came over his face. "Listen to me – what am I turning into: a professional crook?"

Schattner shrugged – it looked oddly sad. "We're not exactly model citizens, no. But with the way things are, no one in their right mind would seriously fault us for what we do."

A few moments of silence ensued as they both mulled over their not so law-abiding activities.

"It's really up to you, Oskar," Schattner said at last. "Both things are important for our cause. So the question is merely whether or not you are able and willing to juggle them together. And whether the one poses a serious threat to the other – or to yourself. And no one knows those odds better than you do yourself."

Karl nodded. "I know. But it's good to talk it over sometimes." Another grimace. "But why is it that I only get to fight them as a lady?"

A smile. "Probably because they don't expect a lady to cross them, and that's what makes you so effective. And so dangerous for them."

Karl smirked, and rubbed his face in thought. "I think I'll quit working at the Festival Theatre then, and for the summer season go to one of the others that have been after me for years. In their eagerness, they're likely to go along with whatever terms I state. Even if I want to perform full time during the weekend and not at all during the week. Three days Danzig and four days Marya should make for a workable mix."

And so it was arranged. The Festival Theatre was not exactly happy about losing their prize show, but they found that Danzig was not to be persuaded. He had made up his mind, and after testing the waters with some of the other theatres that had a standing invitation out for him to come and perform with them, he chose the Spandauer Theatre for his venue during the summer.

And business boomed as Oskar Danzig discovered the art of 'divide and rule'. By switching venue every season, he kept all the interested parties on their toes, eager as they were to comply with the megastar's wishes in order to secure his services.

Occasionally, Karl was sorely tempted to request a change from the female impersonator's show as part of the bargain. But common sense always won out in the end. After all, the main reason he was doing this was to raise money to help Jews and handicapped get out of the country. Danzig's show was a sure guarantee for financial success, and any change of formula might endanger that. Never change a winning team – especially not when lives are dependent on its success...

Danzig's newly acquired skills in the strategy of 'divide and rule' came in handy for his role as Marya as well. With Schattner's advice in mind, Marya's character evolved more and more to be rather ignorant on typical male areas of interest (especially politics), and with innocent deviousness she bestowed her favours and attention then on this, then on that big shot.

Being men, of course they totally failed to see that they were being played off against each other. Instead, they accused one another of stealing the desirable lady away from them, and the jealousy and resentment resulting from this made it very difficult for them to work together for the good of the Third Reich.

With the top brass discussing all kinds of sensitive information in the presence of their 'innocent' status symbol, Karl learned an awful lot that was never meant to be overheard by layman's ears. So much in fact, that Schattner sometimes lamented about having to pick and choose from among the many opportunities Karl presented to him, in order to avoid casting suspicion on Marya.

Still, they managed to burn down hideous and dangerous research labs, raid and blow up several munition factories, burn down one of the first labour camps before it was taken into service (clearly the Führer had followed his own advice after all), destroy many registrar's offices, smoke out a secret Gestapo 'hotel', help dozens and dozens of people to get away before the Gestapo grabbed them, and I know not what.

Karl was a regular participant in these mostly nocturnal raids. Not only came his skills with explosives (1) in handy, he also claimed he needed some antidote for playing a woman practically 24/7. "Otherwise I'm going to wake up one morning in the full belief that I _am_ a woman," he said.

So it happened on that fateful night in the winter of 1937 as well that he was part of their mission to destroy a laboratory for atomic research.

A few days before, Marya had been present at an animated discussion between her present plaything General von Scheffel, and Colonel Ochsenknecht and the visiting Professor Straub.

The professor had been regaling them in some detail with the surprising progress he had made lately in the development of a 'Wasserstoffbombe' (2), when Marya at a convenient pause in the wordflow in all innocence had inquired if the new bomb would give off dust ("Stoff") first, and then water. "That would be the most sensible, wouldn't it? Then the water can wash away the filthy dust right away," she commented, and took a small sip of her wine.

The three men had smiled at her typical feminine reasoning. "No, Fräulein," the professor had explained. "When we talk of Wasserstoff, there really is no dust involved. Wasserstoff is what water is made of."

Marya had raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Isn't water made of water then?" Suddenly she had sat up, her eyes glittering. "Oh, I see: this so-called bomb will be a giant waterballoon! Oh, they are so much fun! I've seen children play with them last summer. You're going to make everyone soaking wet!"

The professor had smiled thinly. "Not quite, Fräulein. This waterbomb is supposed to kill. Thousands, millions at a time."

"Oh!" Disappointed, Marya had leaned back and snuggled up to her General. "That must be very heavy water then." And she had winked mischievously at the good-looking Colonel Ochsenknecht across the room.

The discourse that evening had allowed Karl to deduce the approximate whereabouts of the professor's laboratory, and Schattner's further research had come up with its exact location.

And here they were: Schattner himself in a Wehrmacht uniform, and Karl (or rather: Oskar) and young Tobias Fischer all in black.

The night was cold and dark. A heavy cloud cover obscured any light from moon or stars as they parked their car a few streets away, and without a sound covered the distance to the enclosed laboratory.

The streets were dark and quiet. Out here in the country, streetlights were extinguished after 11 p.m., and not a single soul had anywhere to go at this hour of the night.

Quietly, the three men crept closer. A single guard walked his post – slowly back and forth in front of the gate. For the rest everything seemed to be deserted.

The three of them huddled down in the shadows by the fence, and watched the guard's calm stroll. Until Schattner suddenly jumped forward, agile as a cat, and in three inaudible steps reached the unsuspecting guard ambling away from him. An expert hit in the neck, and the guy sank down on the tarmac without a sound.

Karl and Tobias joined him as Schattner pulled the guy's papers from his pocket and stuffed them in his own. The keys went the same way, and within a few minutes, the hapless guard was securely tied up and gagged, and dragged over to the shadows where they had been lurking a minute ago.

Karl and Tobias stayed with him for a moment – just to see if the minimal commotion they had caused had alerted anyone.

But all remained quiet, and after a few minutes they saw Schattner try the guard's keys on the gate, and a moment later he gestured for them to come.

"Take care," was all Schattner whispered as the two young men in black sneaked in.

Immediately, Karl and Tobias sought the shadow from the trees to make their way to the building. They heard the soft click as Schattner pulled the gate shut again behind them. And before them lay the black outline of the cubic concrete building they were to enter. A veritable fortress it seemed.

Karl carried a small assortment of burglar's tools, but the passkey alone turned out to be enough.

Carefully, without a word, he inched open the door. All was dark and quiet inside, and they both slipped in.

Tobias pulled a tiny flashlight from his belt and examined the bolt on the inside of the door. "No problem," he mouthed, and carefully pushed the door shut.

They knew from Schattner that the building had no windows at all, so they could safely search their way by the light of Tobias's little flashlight.

The first door to the left – locked and all – led to a store room. In large cupboards, dozens of bottles full of a waterlike substance were lined up.

"Must be the heavy water," Karl whispered under his breath as Tobias let his little light dance over the bottles.

"Let's pour it down the drain," Tobias suggested.

Karl grinned, but shook his head and moved on to the next room: an actual chemical laboratory. That wasn't what they were looking for either – what they were looking for was the documentation.

Three more doors to go, and the next one certainly looked promising, as it led to an office. Bookshelves lined the walls, but they were all filled with books – not notes on the professor's recent research. The desk drawers however were all locked – that sure was promising. Karl wriggled with his tools to get them open. But the reward was as disappointing as it was funny: the drawers were full of cookies and candy and empty wraps.

He closed them again, and together they made for the last two doors. The one on the left turned out to be a small bathroom, but the one on the right was locked, too. Not that it gave Karl's passkey much trouble, and within a few seconds they stood in a dark room full of filing cabinets.

"This is it!" Tobias whispered in excitement.

Karl merely nodded in reply, and began to take the sticks of dynamite from the sack he carried. Without a word he began to place them at strategic places throughout the room, connected them two by two with a fuse, and with a final glance at Tobias he...

Suddenly the two black figures froze. Shouting outside, and out of nowhere a raw gunshot echoed in their ears. Two, three times.

"Quick!" Karl hissed, and began to light the fuses: one, two, three, four... and to the door he ran.

But Tobias kept the door carefully closed. "Someone's in the corridor," he mouthed. "Two or three – I can't tell."

Karl glanced back at the burning fuses. They did have a little time, but not much. And if they were found here...

Suddenly, Tobias pulled him along out into the now brightly lit corridor. Without a noise, they quickly made for the front door.

But luck wasn't with them tonight: the door of the office opened and...

The two young men dove into the toilet and waited with their heart in their throat for someone to start yelling about intruders. Or worse, to simply burst into the bathroom with a gun pointed at their chests.

Sweating profusely, they tried to hear what was going on outside their little cell. But the longer they stayed here... How much longer till the place would be blown to the sky?

Tobias opened the door at a crack and listened. And peered out as all he heard were muffled voices.

"Come," he motioned, and holding their breath, they tiptoed out into the brightly lit corridor again: two black ink spots on a white paper.

Without daring to breathe, they passed the office (the door was closed, but they could make out angry voices talking), past the laboratory, the storage room and... Tobias fumbled with the lock for a moment – how much time did they have left?

But then they were outside, Karl pulled the door almost shut to avoid the telltale click, and off they ran through the shadows to the fence.

Schattner was nowhere in sight to open the gate for them, but the two young men had no time to worry about that now – with the agility of youth they were over the nine foot fence in a minute and crouched down in the bushes not far from where they had left the unconscious guard before, in order to take in the situation.

It was difficult to make out anything in the pitchblack of the country night, but their immediate surroundings seemed deserted. They couldn't even pinpoint where they had left the unconscious guard.

"Do you think that was Schattner in the office?" a worried Tobias suddenly whispered. "That they took him inside?"

"Could be," was Karl's equally quiet reply. "But we... No, look!" He sprang to his feet, and keeping low with the bushes, he ran down the verge with Tobias at his heels.

And there, face down in the muddy grass, lay a well-known figure in Wehrmacht uniform. With three large, wet stains on his coat.

"Eduard!" Karl breathed. He fell down on his knees, and carefully rolled over his friend, mentor and leader.

Was he dead?

But just as Tobias knelt on the other side, the eyes of the shot man fluttered open and found his ally hovering over him. "Oskar," he breathed. "Oskar Danzig, did you... succeed?"

Karl nodded – his throat was too constricted to speak.

"We've got to get you to a doctor!" Tobias urged, and he already tried to lift up Schattner.

"No," the pale man said quietly. "No use. I'm dying... I know it." A laborious breath as blood welled up from his mouth, and yet for a moment the two young men could have sworn his eyes beamed. "Mirjam... my wife, my children... It's good. You two get to safety. I'll be okay."

"But...!" Karl started to protest. His eyes told him his friend was dying, but he couldn't just _leave_ him here!

"No!" Schattner's hand sought his, and Karl grabbed it. Tight.

Another wheezing breath, and the dying man said, "It's just... the wrapping paper of me... The firemen can take care of that. You must go and..." A choked coughing fit brought up even more blood. "Leave me. You two get to safety," he croaked.

His eyes sought Karl's again. "Oskar... You take over for me, okay? Leading the fight against this evil."

Karl felt Tobias's eyes on him, too, and nodded. He was simply too choked up to utter a word.

Schattner seemed to relax a little at his acceptance of the task. "Good. Take care of everyone for me. And God go with you."

It was at that moment that all hell broke loose behind them. Explosions, and more explosions, as a pillar of fire suddenly leapt to the sky.

Schattner still whispered something as the two boys turned back to him after their initial reflex to look at the source of the noise. Oddly enough, the dying man's face showed an unmistakable smile.

But Karl felt how his friend's fingers had lost all strength in his hand. "He's gone," he croaked.

Tobias couldn't hear him over the thunderous fire, but he understood.

And Karl laid down the powerless hand, and passed his hand over the staring eyes the way he had seen Father Kilius do with those poor retarded children two years ago. That had been his first mission with Eduard – no, Wilhelm Schattner...

"Come." Tobias pulled him up. "We've got to get out of here before the fire brigade arrives." He was even cool enough to search Schattner's pockets for the car-key, before pulling his friend along, back to where Schattner had left the car earlier that evening.

Neither of them uttered another word until they reached the outskirts of Berlin again.

"I know it feels bad to leave him there, Oskar, but he was right," Tobias quietly pointed out. "There was nothing we could do, nothing any doctor could do – if he would have made it to a doctor at all. He knew it, and he told us himself to leave him and get to safety. At least we stayed with him until he died."

Karl sighed. "I know – I know. But it still feels awful to leave him there."

"I know." Tobias heaved a sigh, too, and they continued again in silence until they parked the car at the back of Café Brunn.

The agreed knocksignal soon opened the back door for them, and there was Josel, the café's proprietor, to lead the way inside. "How did it go?" was his first question as he put down his candle on the table – immediately followed by, "Where is Wilhelm?"

Karl and Tobias glanced at each other before Karl took a deep breath and reported that their leader was dead. Shot in the back.

"Oh my..." Josel quickly sat down. "What happened?"

Quietly, Karl related what they knew, and what they guessed must have happened outside while they were in the building.

"He was a good man. We're going to miss him," was all Josel said when Karl finished talking. But he got up, went out into the café and came back with a bottle of liquor and three glasses. They were quickly filled and handed out. "To our dear friend, Wilhelm Schattner. May he rest in peace."

The three men drank in silence.

"Who is going to tell his wife?" Karl inquired at last. He certainly hoped _he_ didn't have to do that – new leader or not. He had never even met the lady; heck, he hadn't even known that Schattner was married...

But all he got from both Josel and Tobias were odd looks.

"What?" Uneasily, he looked from one to the other. "He said... Didn't he, Tobias?"

"Didn't you know?" Tobias asked quietly.

"No, perhaps he didn't," Josel realized. "Wilhelm certainly never talked about it, and you hadn't joined us yet when it happened."

Karl merely stared at him, silently imploring Josel to go on, while at the same time a sense of dread filled him.

A heavy sigh, and then Josel's quiet voice narrated in the semi darkness, "It happened a few years ago, when Hitler had been in power for only a year or so. Wilhelm came home from work one night, finding the place trashed, and his wife and three young children nowhere to be found. A neighbour told him they'd been taken away by the Gestapo, so Wilhelm went to the nearest Gestapo office to find out where they had been taken. And was told ice-cold that they had been taken somewhere out into the country, been shot, and buried in a massgrave together with a bunch of others. And the guy couldn't even tell him where, since they'd done five or six of those raids to different places that day."

_The sloping field in the mountains of Bad Reichenhall, the machineguns rattling, gasps, cries, thumps as people – women, children – fell by the handfull..._

Karl hid his face in his hands. "I've seen it," he brought out. "I've seen it – not here, but down in Bayern. It was... awful..." He bit down on his lip; his hands clenched into fists as the images he had pushed away deep, deep inside came rushing back to him. "Awful..." he repeated quietly.

Without a word, Josel filled up his glass again and pushed it back to him. "Here. Drink."

Karl downed the glass in one gulp, coughed a little, and stated more than he asked, "They were Jews then, weren't they."

"Wilhelm wasn't, but his wife – yes," Josel replied. "And therefore the children were considered Jewish as well, even though they had been raised as Christians – baptized and all."

For a long time the three men sat together in silence by the flickering light of the candle. But at long last, Josel got up and admonished them that they ought to go home. "Come and wash the soot off your face, and then straight home to bed. Try and get some sleep. Come by for lunch tomorrow, okay? Then we can discuss what to do next."

* * *

The blackboard outside Café Brunn informed the passers-by the next morning that today's lunch special was tomatosoup.

And promptly, the core group of Schattner's resistance unit showed up at the café around lunchtime, and was told there were still tables free on the first floor.

Tobias was present, too, for the occasion, and with a solemn handshake, Karl took the chair next to him.

As soon as the small group was complete, Josel stood and related briefly what Oskar and Tobias had told him about last night. The reactions varied from stoic to shocked. There were a few questions that Karl and Tobias answered to the best of their knowledge, and when Josel concluded with, "We have lost a very dear friend. May he rest in peace," everyone present bowed their head or mumbled a short prayer.

A few minutes of silence ensued, but in the end Volker, a young engineer, asked, "So what's going to happen now?"

"We keep fighting of course," Berthold Fischer from the fish shop grumbled. "Now more than ever, don't you think?"

"Yes, but..."

"But we've lost the mastermind behind everything we do," Josel filled in.

"Yes," Volker agreed. "Who's going to take over that responsibility?"

Karl suddenly felt Tobias's eyes on him. And not just Tobias's, but Berthold's and Kläre's as well – clearly he had told his parents. And Josel – Josel, too?

Apprehensively he leaned back, sagging in his chair, as if to physically try and remove himself from the center of attention he suddenly found himself in.

Of course he had promised Schattner to take over for him last night – how could he possibly have said no at such a moment? But to actually take on that responsibility – surely there would be others better equipped and more experienced than he was?

He heard Josel's voice as from far away. "Well, it may have been fate, but actually we discussed just that with Wilhelm no so very long ago. And I'm sure that those who were there will recall that according to Wilhelm, we had his ideal successor right here in our midst."

"Oskar Danzig," Dieter confirmed quietly.

Karl glanced up. He felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. _So it hadn't been just the spur of the moment that had made Schattner ask him... – no, apparently he had _really_ thought that _he_...?_

Next to him, Tobias said, "He even asked you to take over for him before he died, remember?"

"Yes, but..." If it hadn't been for Josel's kind eyes holding his, he probably would have bolted from the room at that moment.

"Oskar," Josel said in a gentle, almost compassionate tone. "I realize that you're rather young to take on such a responsibility. But if you'll allow me to explain _why_ Wilhelm thought you'd be his perfect successor, perhaps you'd be willing to consider the situation." He paused, waiting for a reaction from the man he mainly addressed.

When he got none, he continued, "Oskar, with the kind of life you lead, some of the most important traits we need in a leader are simply second nature to you: the ability to foresee what is likely to happen, to keep track of every little detail under all circumstances, and to instantly improvise when things don't go according to plan. We all have our specialisms, that's true. And we all share the determination to stop the Nazis. But none of us has all the talents I just mentioned – the talents necessary to keep us safe in our battle. Wilhelm had them, yes. And he saw those same talents in you."

Berthold nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what he said. And I agree."

"Me too," Dieter added. "Oskar is young, yes. But we'll support him and back him up wherever we can. But we need his skills if we want to keep on fighting."

Karl's eyes flew from one to the other, his mind awhirl. The responsibility of planning missions and ultimately being responsible for their success or failure frightened him. It wasn't so much that he thought he couldn't do it – it was the idea of having to decide who to send into dangerous, possibly lethal situations, knowing there was a chance they might not make it back.

But how could he ignore this plea for help? For that's basically what it was: they needed _him_ – Karl Langenscheidt – to keep them safe. Could he really refuse a request like that?

For what Josel had said about his talents was true. He had never really looked at it from that angle, but these things were indeed second nature to him in keeping his multiple double lives straight. And surely Schattner must know what he was talking about if he thought those traits vital for a resistance leader. In hindsight, it even put a totally different spin on some of the discussions they had had over the years. Almost as if Schattner had been probing him, testing him – or preparing him?

Then how could he turn down his friend and mentor's last request?

He looked up, and sought out Josel's eyes. A deep breath. "I'll do my best."

And with those words, he took his first step on the road that would lead him to become the highly esteemed underground leader as Colonel Hogan knew him.

* * *

.

(1) See chapter 6.

(2) Wasserstoffbombe is one of the German words for the H-bomb. It's a literal translation of the English "hydrogen-bomb", but the funny thing is that the word "Wasserstoff" – though meant to be built from the words "water" and "matter" – can also be translated/interpreted as "water-dust". Which is of course how the so-called ignorant Marya chooses to interpret it here.

* * *

.

_Author's note: well, Danzig fans, rejoice! I've been diligently writing these past weekends, and at the moment, I have some 7 or 8 more chapters of this story ready to be typed up. Chapters for which I'd love to get some feedback, so you may expect them fairly soon. :-)_

_One word though for those to whom I promised a soon to come more lighter tone in this story with Karl's meeting Maryse. (Un-)fortunately, while writing them, some of the events preceding that just grew and grew into such a complicated storyline, that the one planned chapter for it (the next) wasn't sufficient by far. So you're just going to have to bear with me and Karl and the perils of the resistance in prewar Berlin for a little longer. _

_But though a longer read to get there, at least I can now safely promise you that you'll get the romantic comedy of a female impersonator falling in love while on the job very soon!_


	14. Treason

For a while, the resistance group lay a little low to give their new leader the chance to settle down in his role. Karl took the time to teach his make-up techniques to some of the ladies of the group, so that at least for _that_ they wouldn't be so solely dependent on him anymore.

He also issued the order that from now on, only first names would be used to address one another. For if the Gestapo were ever to pick you up and forced you to spill names, they could do far less with only a first name than with a last name.

Of course most of the present members knew each other by the full name. But at least new members would never learn anything but their comrades' first names.

And there were a lot of new members. As fear and grimness in society grew, more and more people decided they wanted to do something – anything – to protest what was going on. Usually they were brought along by existing members – friends and family.

But Karl soon noticed that some of them seemed more interested in the thrill of danger and adventure than in the cause for which they were fighting. Some of them - like Uwe and Harro - were converted by a few stern discussions with Josel and Dieter and became useful helpers. Others however were less willing to accept the bitter truth of fighting the Nazis, and Karl was wary to include those 'cowboys' in their missions. Which occasionally led to unpleasant scenes as they accused him of favouritism. But especially Josel supported him through thick and thin, and even went so far as to suggest that if they didn't have faith in their leader's judgement, they had better leave the group altogether.

Which some of them did. Usually to start their own resistance group, which – maybe a sign from heaven? – invariably ended up in Gestapo hands within a few months.

It only made Karl more determined to keep his people safe, and his missions were always meticulously planned. Marya was still their main informer, and as his confidence grew over time, his plans became bolder and more unorthodox. And Karl was quite proud that – although their success rate was not 100% (it was high, but not perfect) – their casualty rate remained steadfastly at zero.

And so the year passed with its moderate ups and downs, and it saw Karl grow and mature in his leading role. Josel remained his closest confidant with whom he went over every plan in detail, and whose advice he valued greatly. And the two soon became really good friends.

Great was his shock therefore when shortly after Christmas he went past their café on his way to the theatre, just in time to see a black Gestapo truck drive off.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Karl watched the truck round the corner. Were they...?

He quickly crossed the road and pushed open the door of Café Brunn.

His breath caught in his throat. The place was in complete disarray – as if someone had been furiously searching for something, not caring about what he broke in his drive to find it.

"Josel? Lena?" His voice sounded shrill, and he nearly jumped as someone answered from behind him.

"They've been taken away. I saw it." An elderly man stood behind him. He looked sad. "Such good people. Always available for a friendly chat over a good cup of coffee. But I doubt I'll ever get a cup of coffee from them again."

"Why?" Karl implored. "Do you know _why_ they were taken away? Or where?"

The man shook his head. "Darned pity though. They served the best peasoup between Tegel and the Brandenburger Tor."

Karl glanced at his watch. He still had some time, and it was quite clear that this man couldn't tell him much else that was useful. But with two of their people picked up by the Gestapo, their entire group was in danger.

_Try to keep your mouth shut as long as possible_ – they all knew the mantra for when they'd be arrested.

But it was publicly known that especially the Gestapo could be brutal in their interrogations, and there was no telling how long Josel and Lena – or anyone – would be able to hold out under torture. They'd have to find a way to get them out of there, and fast!

The problem was that the café had always served as the group's communication centre. The lunch special on the blackboard outside had several options for messages that insiders could read simply by walking past the café.

But now with the café out of order, they'd have to find another way to pass on this all-important news.

"Thank you," he said absent-mindedly to the man, and hurried off down the street. Fischer's Fish Shop was but a few blocks away – maybe they could pass on the message with fake deliveries or something.

Luck wasn't with him – the shop was full of customers, and neither Berthold nor Kläre recognized him in his disguise as the actor Oskar Danzig.

And that's when it struck him – Josel and Lena _did_ know him in this disguise! He often had a late lunch with them on his theatre days, giving them the chance to discuss Marya's latest news and possible plans born from that news. Josel and Lena were the only ones to be aware of this disguise belonging to their leader Oskar Danzig, but with them being the ones in Gestapo custody, that left him pretty vulnerable in this look.

Fortunately, when it finally was his turn, there were no other customers left. "It's me – Oskar," he said quickly and quietly. "Josel and Lena have just been picked up by the Gestapo. Can you find a way to pass on the message?"

Kläre brought her hand to her mouth in shock, and Berthold put down the knife he was cleaning. "It'll look a bit odd for a fish shop, but I'll fix it right away." And he wiped his hands, grabbed a cloth and a piece of chalk from under the counter and stepped outside.

"Here." Kläre quickly wrapped up some cold cod. "Can't leave the shop without groceries – that'd be odd. Don't worry, we'll pass on the word. And we can meet here upstairs tonight."

"Thanks. It'll be close to midnight before I can make it though."

"We'll just start thinking up plans," Kläre promised.

With a mutual warning to be careful, Karl left the shop, past Berthold who had erased the offers for fresh haddock, eel and whelks, and now advertized mushroomsoup.

"Take care," Karl said to him, too, and quickly hurried off home to change his disguise. If he was quick, he'd even have time to call on a few of the others on his way to the theatre.

He reappeared as a burly fiftyish-year-old, and took the road to the city centre with long strides. Only to stop dead in his tracks when Fischer's Fish Shop came in sight. For the place was ransacked much as Café Brunn...

A chill went down his spine. This couldn't possibly be the result yet of Josel and Lena talking – they wouldn't act _that_ fast, would they?

Which meant... they must have had someone on _his_ trail... On anyone's trail who'd gone near Café Brunn today. So _he_ was the one who had led them to Berthold and Kläre and Sanne and Tobias...

It also meant that he had led his shadow straight back to his own apartment, thus totally compromising his Langenscheidt persona. And despite his change of appearance, there was a chance that the guy was still on his trail. So going to warn the others pretty much equalled turning them into the Gestapo.

No. The first thing to do was to lose this hound on his trail. Or rather – to determine whether his present persona was indeed being followed.

He set off again at a firm pace, his mind in turmoil. He hopped onto a tram, hopped off again, took a bus and another bus, all the while keeping a keen eye on his fellow passengers.

But none of them kept up with him – none even travelled on two the same vehicles as he did. So apparently he was not being followed at the moment. His shadow must have stayed behind watching his apartment – not that such was much of a reassurance.

He got off the bus again and checked his watch. If he walked from here, it wouldn't be much out of his way to go past Dieter's and Uwe's place, and perhaps even past Benno's. The sooner the word was spread, the better. It would probably mean he'd be a little late for work, but warning his friends was worth a good scolding. Those nuts who paid good money to see a guy dress up as a woman could wait.

But as he turned into the Kastanienstraβe, he felt the colour drain from his face. There was that ominous Gestapo truck again. And from number sixteen, Dieter and his wife were led down the gardenpath – handcuffed and all, and prodded by a machinegun.

Bleakly, he watched the truck as it drove off in the other direction. This couldn't possibly have happened through their following _him_. Coincidence then? Or was there some other factor in the game?

He walked on again, in the direction of the Mendelssohnstraβe. And tensed as he saw the small clump of people talking in front of Uwe's house.

Casually, without really slowing down, he walked past them, feigning no interest at all. But he heard enough to deduce that Uwe had been picked up by the Gestapo as well.

What the heck was going on here? Had Josel and Lena mentioned every name they knew the moment they had entered Gestapo headquarters? That seemed highly unlikely...

He continued on to Benno's place, and was already hardly surprised to find much of a copy of the situation in the Mendelssohnstraβe.

With a deep frown he hurried on from there to the Park Theatre. Although to be honest, he wasn't even sure if it was a good idea to go there at all. For with the Gestapo picking up his people one by one today, they might well be waiting for Oskar Danzig at the only address where they could be sure he'd show up.

But first of all he needed to think. To calm down and think. And find out somehow who else had been hauled off by the Gestapo.

He took the stairs two at a time to the stage door, showed his theatre pass to the porter and hurried on to his dressing room. And throwing open the door, he stood eye to eye with the director.

"Mr. Danzig, I presume?" the man said icily.

Karl immediately refound himself. "Yes. And I'm sorry for being so late, but there was..."

"You have less than twenty minutes to curtain!" the director coldly interrupted him as he watched his star tear off his cap and sit down in front of the mirror.

"I know." Karl turned to face him. "And I said I'm sorry. But if you'd still like to see the show to start on time, I think you'd better leave me now and postpone your tirade till the interval."

He turned back to the mirror, and heard how the director angrily breathed in through his nose in a snort. "Superstars..." he heard him mutter, and then the door closed with a bang.

Karl reached it in two steps and turned the key. He never allowed anyone in his room while he was changing, for the justified fear that they'd see the 'real' him in between his disguises.

But right now there was a greater fear in his heart. Not only for his own sake, but for his friends' as well.

For one possible explanation of this whole thing was, that someone had deliberately informed the Gestapo on them – with names and everything. And the only way that could have happened so thoroughly, was if this informer had been part of their group for quite a while. Which meant that right now, he really couldn't trust _anyone_ but himself. Not until he had figured out exactly who had been picked up and who hadn't.

With his many years of experience, he easily made it in time for the show. But he went through the whole thing entirely on routine.

Back in his dressing room he sent out for dinner, listened to the director's promised tirade without batting an eyelid, did the two evening shows on routine as well, and ended up with a massive headache from all the brooding and second-guessing he'd been doing all night.

Tonight of all nights, just when he needed to be alert and clear-headed as never before – and all his body really wanted to do was to curl up under a blanket and turn off the lights!

He found a nearly forgotten aspirin in the back of his drawer, and prayed it wasn't so old that it had turned toxic.

But he couldn't stay here. He had to find out what had happened to his friends. So he gathered up his willpower and the fiftyish man's act, and made for the stage door.

It had barely fallen shut behind him when two men in official Gestapo black accosted him. "Ausweis, bitte."

Karl glanced from one to the other, hoping, _praying_ that the dark would obscure his fear.

He pulled the papers that matched his present disguise from his pocket and placed them in the waiting hand.

He thought he sweated water and blood as he watched how thoroughly they were studied, with frequent intrusive stares at his face to see if the information was indeed correct. A jovial remark would be in place right now – to show them that he had nothing to fear. But the fact was that he was absolutely tongue-tied with fear.

The best he could manage right now was to feign disinterest, so he forced himself to glance at the other Gestapoman. And was surprised to see that the guy was peering the other way, toward the dark bushes of the neighbouring park.

The instant curiosity as to what the guy was looking at nudged Karl out of his fear induced paralysis. He followed the man's gaze, and within seconds he had located a person – a man by the looks of it – standing in the bushes, looking their way.

Why would a guy hide in the bushes late at night and stare at the stage door of a theatre? Was he a stalker perhaps? Was the Gestapoman perhaps wondering the same?

The door behind him opened again, and out came Agnita, one of the revuegirls.

The other Gestapoman turned to her, and said, "Moment, Fräulein. Ausweis, bitte."

As Agnita muttered something not so nice while she dug around in her purse for her papers, Karl caught the Gestapoman looking over his shoulder towards the man in the park again. And from the corner of his eye – no, this couldn't be! The guy in the bushes was making a clear negating gesture! He was...!

And indeed: Agnita's papers got but a cursory inspection, and she was free to go.

But there was no time to dwell on that, for he got his own fake papers thrusted in his face again, and with a barked, "In Ordnung," he, too, was free to go.

He felt he could faint with relief, but now was not the time for that. So he turned past the theatre, and forcibly suppressed the urge to run away as far as his legs would carry him. Clearly he had passed inspection, so for the moment he could move freely. And despite his pounding head, he finally had a clue here that might help him find, maybe even save his friends. For surely it couldn't be coincidence that the Gestapo showed up at Danzig's theatre with a nark the same day that half his team was picked up?

He only walked one block around before seeking his way back through the park to the theatre's side entrance. He still heard voices through the night, which only made sense – he had been one of the first to leave tonight, so there were still many to come.

And there was the clump of bushes where the nark was hiding. He was itching to know who it was, and more so in the knowledge that it was likely to be someone he knew. Someone he had trusted. Someone whose neck he'd like to wring.

But now was not the time for that. First he needed to know more.

So he crouched down behind the bushes, not far from where the nark was hiding.

His head was pounding painfully, but he tried to ignore it the best he could and concentrated on the voices at the stage door. They were too far off to really make out anything, but his patience paid off in the end when the two Gestapomen left the theatre and came straight to the nark's hiding place.

There was the sound of cracking branches as that someone stepped out of his hideout to meet his companions. And Karl held his breath – if they'd find him here now, he'd be dead meat!

"Well, Herr Eckner," he heard one of the men sneer. "It seems your insight in the man's disguises isn't as thorough as you thought it was."

Karl tensed. They were after him indeed...

He heard an obvious sigh. "I'm sorry, sir. I told you the man is a master of disguises. The only thing he really can't change is his height. And you checked everyone within that range."

"And he slipped by us nonetheless. Well, we'll have to come back tomorrow and pick him up as soon as he leaves the stage. I just hope we haven't alerted him with our presence tonight."

That was it: Oskar Danzig would quit performing as from this very moment.

The voices began to move away, and quickly, Karl rose and followed them, carefully keeping to the grass and keeping out of sight whenever he could. His headache was still splitting – the aspirin didn't seem to work at all. But he wanted to know who this Eckner guy was, and if he'd let him go now, he may never have another opportunity.

So he kept up with the three men, and when they went their separate ways coming out of the park, Karl hurried to catch up as the only one not in uniform took a left into the Charlottenburgerallee.

Following someone through a city centre is a lot more convenient than through a deserted park. Especially when this someone has no inkling that he's being followed. Karl made sure he never let the guy get too far ahead, and followed him as a shadow as he walked straight home, clearly not suspecting anything. It turned out he lived indeed in the part of town where most people of the resistance group lived, and following him, Karl became more and more convinced that there was something familiar about the guy indeed. Something about the...

He held in his step in surprise, and then walked on as if nothing were the matter. But some twenty meters ahead of him, on the other side of the street, the Eckner guy had come to a halt and pulled a key from his pocket.

His face remained in shadows though as he unlocked the front door of a small terraced house and pushed it open.

Well, at least he knew the guy's last name and address, Karl thought as he stamped the housenumber on his memory and looked around for the name of the street. If necessary, he could post here all day tomorrow to catch a glimpse of the guy by daylight. There was...

He froze. Eckner had switched on the hall lights before closing the front door. And the man now turning back to the door to close it was... Harro! Harro, their mechanics expert!


	15. Alone

Now that the immediate mystery was solved, his headache instantly came crashing down on him with such force that for a moment, he physically staggered. Calling on all his strength, he managed to force himself to walk on, lest Harro should look out the window and recognize the man from the theatre. But in between the merciless blows of the sledgehammer in his head, his mind was reeling.

Harro... He should have... He'd been with them since... when? Before the summer at least, for he was with them when... Who'd brought him on – had it been Olaf? Dieter? Benno? Ferdi maybe? He couldn't remember – there had been too many. He should have... He should have...

Harro... Another one of those thrillseekers at first. But one who'd come to realize the seriousness of the matter, and had become one of their most dedicated people. Dedicated... to the Gestapo, yes. Oh, what had he done, the creep, the monster, the snake, the...

But he should have _known_, he should have _seen_ it, _he_ should have...!

Suddenly he became aware that he'd been taking the route home. No – no, he couldn't go home! Not with the Gestapo waiting for him there!

Or were they? Well, maybe at least. But he certainly wasn't going to find out now.

Instead, he took the first sidestreet back to the Königsallee, wandered back towards the city and checked in at the first still open hotel he passed. The sleepy receptionist didn't ask any questions and merely had him sign in (he had to think a moment to recall which papers he carried), gave him the key and directed him to the third floor.

Up in his room, he didn't even bother to turn on the light. He just locked the door behind him, and sank down on the bed, hiding his warm, pounding head in his hands. If only that sledgehammer would stop hammering around, so that at least he could think clearly...

But mere wishing for his headache to go away had no effect, and in the end he came to the conclusion that he might as well go to bed. Hopefully sleep would silence that awful pounding in his head.

Slowly, he took off his boots and clothes, splashed some cool water on his face at the washstand and crawled under the blanket.

He felt slightly guilty as he cautiously tried to find the most comfortable position on the pillow for his pounding head. For here he was – in a bed, with a pillow and a blanket and clean sheets... while his friends were locked up in some Gestapo jail, maybe even being interrogated at this very moment.

Quietly, he asked them for forgiveness, explaining to them that there was not much he could do for them at this hour of the night, and giving them a solemn promise that he'd do _everything_ in his power to get them out... and suddenly the wintersun tickled his cheeks and woke him up.

He sat up with a start as both memory and the remnants of that headache came flooding back to him. Fortunately, the awful pounding had ceased. It was still lurking in the back, but not to the extent that it really impaired him anymore.

Good.

He got up, and noticed the brownred smears on the pillow. Oh brother, he'd forgotten to take off his make-up as Kurt Hagedorn last night. Well, that was easily enough hidden. He pulled off the pillowcase, turned it inside out, put it back on the pillow and placed it with the dirty side down. Not perfect, but there was a good chance that it wouldn't be noticed until it got to the cleaner's.

He got dressed, more or less fixed his features with the few sticks of make-up he carried (the sleepy receptionist probably wouldn't notice the difference anyway), and went down to pay for his room and leave.

And then he stood outside again, contemplating what to do next.

Breakfast was a first necessity, but paying for the room he had realized he didn't have much money left. Not in his pocket at least. He really should find out whether or not his apartment was being watched. For with the stuff he had there, he could have a serious go at helping his friends.

And of course call the theatre with some excuse for Danzig not to perform anymore. After all, his co-workers there were dependent on Danzig's presence, too. If he couldn't be there, the entire show would have to be cancelled, so the very least he owed them was a reasonable explanation as to why their star had suddenly cleared off.

Or perhaps he ought to do that here – in case they had bugged his telephone at home.

So he went back inside and asked the receptionist if he could make a phonecall.

The man nodded. "There is the phone booth, sir. But it is a payphone."

Karl dug out some change from his pocket, went into the booth and dialled for the operator. "The Park Theatre, Herr Direktor Brühl, bitte."

"Moment, bitte."

Silence – then, "Brühl here, guten Morgen."

"Guten Morgen, Herr Brühl, this is Dr. Augstein speaking from the Berlin Stadthospital. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"What?" He heard Herr Brühl draw in his breath in shock. "My wife? My children?"

"No sir, not your family. This concerns one of your employees: the actor Oskar Danzig."

"What about him?" The man's utter relief was almost tangible, and Karl felt bad for having given him such a scare.

But he went on with, "Herr Danzig has been brought in here this morning with a bad case of pneumonia. I'm afraid he will not be able to perform for quite a while."

"What?" Obviously, that news shook the director back to reality. "He can't! The entire show is built up around him!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to do without him for a while. He is in no condition to leave his hospital bed – let alone to stand on stage all night long."

There was a rumble at the other end of the line. "So much for getting the big star in. But I suppose it can't be helped. Anyway, thank you for letting me know, doctor. And wishing you a good day."

"Thank you, Herr Direktor. And a good day to you, too."

So – that was that. And now straight home to find out whether his apartment was indeed under surveillance.

* * *

It turned out that – unless someone was covertly keeping watch from inside one of the apartments in the building opposite to his – no one was paying any special attention to his apartment, or hanging around somewhere for no apparent reason.

It did make sense of course, he figured as he took the familiar stairs two at a time. He had _thought_ they had gotten onto the Fischers because they had followed him there. But the later discoveries of the others having been picked up before he even got close to their homes negated that. So apart from the fact that the Gestapo was looking for him, he was still relatively safe.

Besides, after what he had overheard in the park last night, it seemed fairly obvious that Harro was the man behind this. And it was equally obvious that Harro was not aware of _his_ real identity. So much the better of course, but it did mean he couldn't use his most recent disguises.

As he made himself a few sandwiches and a cup of tea, he pondered about how to tackle the problem to find out who had and who hadn't been picked up. He needed an excuse to go and call at certain houses. A Jehovah's Witness could do that, but with the way those people had been treated lately, it would be a rather hazardous charade. And right now he really couldn't afford getting into trouble himself.

In the end he settled for a shabby pedlar, trying to sell his own meagre supplies of razorblades, shoelaces, safety-pins and matches.

The afternoon's charade was a success in that he learned indeed that literally all his people had been picked up by the Gestapo yesterday. All except Harro of course. Sure – he didn't know all the addresses, but the latest members being friends and family of the older ones, a few careful questions were usually sufficient to get the information he wanted to know.

At least the situation was clear now: it was Karl Langenscheidt solo versus the entire Berlin Gestapo. With the lives of nearly forty of his friends at stake.

But before he could do anything to rescue them, he needed to know where they were being held. There were several Gestapo offices in Berlin – it wouldn't do to barge into the wrong one to demand the liberation of his friends. So he went home, typed up some fresh Gestapo orders along the specifications of some older ones he still had lying around, had a full change of appearance, changed into the conspicuously inconspicuous dark Gestapo outfit with the Nazi pin prominently displayed on his black tie, and marched out of the building on his way to Gestapo headoffice in the city with a flat briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

It was shortly before nine in the evening when he swiftly took the steps up to the impressive building and brought a crisp salute to the officer sitting at the reception desk.

"Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?" the clerk-officer greeted him.

Karl pulled his papers from his inside pocket. "I'm Leutnant Lothar Böttcher, aide of General Stahl. I am to take some very sensitive documents to him in Berchtesgaden, but our car broke down. I do not want to expose these papers to a public place. Can I wait here until my men are ready to take me to Berchtesgaden?"

"Of course, Herr Leutnant. I can even get you another car, if you like."

Lieutenant Böttcher bared his teeth. "_'Trust no one,'_ General Stahl always says."

The clerk immediately backpedalled. "No. Of course not."

"Now where can I wait? Preferably someplace where I can get a decent cup of coffee," the lieutenant demanded.

"Of course. Why don't you wait in our refreshment room – on the first floor, the second door to your right."

"Danke." A short nod, another Heil Hitler salute, and Lieutenant Böttcher made his way up the stairs.

The coffee room turned out to be small, but deserted. There were a few easy chairs, a side table with a thermos jug that smelled of old coffee, a few mugs, and about a dozen newspapers lying around.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a newspaper and sat down in one of the chairs with his briefcase in his lap. The waiting could start...

In the hours that followed, only two people came into the room. But they merely glanced at him, fetched their cup of coffee and left again. Clearly, the coffee room at Gestapo headquarters wasn't the busiest place in town on a Saturday evening.

But in the early hours of the morning he was joined by two sniggering junior officers who poured themselves some coffee and fell down in the chairs opposite.

"What's so funny?" Lieutenant Böttcher inquired.

The two men looked at each other and burst out in a fit of chuckles.

"Ever heard of Oskar Danzig?" the elder of the two asked at last.

"The female impersonator? Of course I have." There wasn't a single soul in all of Berlin who hadn't.

Another snicker. "Well, it turns out that Mr. Danzig is a _double_ impersonator."

Böttcher frowned. "A double...? What do you mean?"

This time the younger of the two answered. "Well, we've known for some time that Herr Danzig was the leader of a rather notorious resistance group here in the city. So we went to the theatre tonight to pick him up for some questioning, and..." Once more his mirth overtook him, so the other one completed, "It turns out that the famous female impersonator really is a woman!"

"What?" _They must have gotten one of the girls to play my part, just to let the show go on_, it flashed through his mind.

"Yeah, can you imagine: a woman impersonating a man in order to be a female impersonator?"

"No wonder he was so good," Karl commented wryly.

"Now what would we call such a person?" the younger Gestapoman mused. "Perhaps a female male female impersonator?"

"The length these superstars will go to – just to attract attention," the other one said.

"Well, she'll sure get all the attention she wants tomorrow." The younger man snickered and leaned forward in confidentiality. "Major Lüpertz was as cross as a swastika, for it soon became clear that this girl knew absolutely nothing about any resistance activities. Which means he now _really_ doesn't have a clue where to find the real Danzig."

"If there really is such a person," the other one cut in.

"Of course there is," the younger man huffed. "He may not be _the_ Oskar Danzig, but we know for sure that he's a master of disguises. And his helpers all claim that their leader is Oskar Danzig."

"But they're either being incredibly stubborn, or they really don't know anything about the guy," the older one objected.

"Eckner couldn't find out anything about him either. But he met him regularly, so he does exist. I still say Major Lüpertz was too hasty in shooting most of them this morning though."

Karl winced painfully, but managed to hide it in a smirk. "You can't squeeze information from a dead body," he agreed, pushing away the hurt.

"My idea exactly. Now he's only got a few left to work on. They're the big shots of the group, but still..." He chuckled. "One of them let slip that the Russian medium Marya works for Danzig as well. Remember her?"

Böttcher frowned. "I believe so. Isn't that the one the Führer recommends so highly that all his generals are fighting over her?" So Marya had been implicated as well. That was valuable knowledge.

"Yeah, that's the one," the Gestapoman continued, and took a sip of his coffee. "It's certainly possible – she did start her Berlin career from the house of one of the resistance people."

"It would be a bit of a scandal if it were true," the other guy commented. "I mean involving the Führer and all. I think Major Lüpertz wants some more proof before stirring up that hornet's nest."

Böttcher chuckled. "I sure wouldn't want to be in his shoes if it turns out he's wrong."

"No, certainly not!" His two companions chuckled, and returned to their previous subject about Danzig being a lady after all.

But Karl was suddenly on tenterhooks. Set off by the information about Marya, a plan was hatching in his brain. A desperate plan, especially if he had to do it on his own, but at least it _was_ a plan.

But he couldn't just run out of here while his two informants were still chatting away over their coffee – that'd be awfully suspicious.

So he forced himself to stay relaxed in his easy chair, sipping his coffee, listening to the two indefatigable twaddlers and occasionally throwing in an off-hand remark of his own.

But finally, _finally_ they got up, left their mugs on the table, wished him goodnight and left the room.

Tense as a spring, Karl waited for their footsteps to recede. Then he made for the door, inched it open and listened for any human presence in the corridor. When all remained quiet, he reclaimed his Gestapo lieutenant role, buttoned up his overcoat, and went quickly down the stairs as if the building were his daily workplace.

There was still one obstacle to bypass to get out of here – the clerk at the reception desk. But luck was with him for once today: the clerk who had let him in had been relieved by someone else who merely looked up, nodded, and let him exit the building without asking any questions.

Time was now of the essence. He took a taxi to the corner of the Königsallee three blocks past his own apartment. From there he hurried home, unlocked the by now rather irritating briefcase from his wrist, sat down at his typewriter to fix some new orders, and then went to remove all his make-up and went out.

It was awfully early in the morning, and the city was fast asleep. But Karl knew of one address where he could always go for help: Father Werner's vicarage.

As soon as the door opened at his insistent knocking, he opened his mouth to...

And stared.

"Yes?" the young man before him said encouragingly.

"Who are _you_?" Karl blurted out. "I was looking for Father Werner."

The young man in the doorway hid a large yawn. "He's been replaced. I'm the priest here now. Father Kreutz is my name."

"_Replaced?_ When? Where?"

"A few days ago. Not sure where they sent him, but it certainly wasn't a friendly little parish for him to keep spreading about those silly rumours about the Party."

Father Werner had been picked up, too, Karl's brain bleakly translated.

Which meant he was now totally, entirely, completely on his own. No friends. No allies. No colleagues – no one.

"Oh. Thank you," he mumbled, and turned to go.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" the replacement priest called after him.

Karl looked back. "I don't think so. Sorry. This really called for Father Werner's expertise – he knows the situation and the people. I don't think you'd be of much help, coming in without that knowledge."

"Alright. Well, good luck then, and good night."

The door was closed, and Karl stared at it for a moment. If anything, those last words made it crystal clear that this Father Kreutz was no real priest. Or if he was, he probably held _Mein Kampf_ in higher esteem than the Bible.

Just wishing him 'good luck'...

He quickly hurried home, his mind arguing with itself whether or not it would be a good idea to go on with this plan all alone. Father Werner – if he had indeed agreed to come along – wouldn't have had to do much, but his mere presence as an aide would have given Karl's character credence.

But now?

There was no one left to ask unless he'd pluck someone off the street at random. And that didn't strike him as a particularly good idea either.

So now he had the choice between taking the risk of going in all alone, or giving up his friends altogether.

His jaw tightened as he leapt up the stairs to his apartment. Giving up his friends was simply not an option.

Even if it was practically suicide to try and get them out.


	16. Rescue

_Giving up his friends was simply not an option. Even if it was practically suicide to try and get them out._

.

But first he needed a complete make-over in order to get back into Gestapo headquarters.

Twenty minutes later an aristocratic man in a colonel's Heer uniform came down the stairs again and calmly walked towards town. But instead of following the Königsallee, he turned left towards the barracks of the Luftwaffe.

It was approaching 5.30 now. Everything in the military camp was still quiet, but it wouldn't be long before the loud bell would chase the young soldiers out of bed.

But now was not the time to contemplate on that. He was here to get a car – or better still: a truck. And he knew there were always a few vans parked out in the street here at night.

With one of his small burglar's tools he opened the door of the first truck. A glance in the back to make sure he had no unsuspecting hitch-hikers, and then he pulled free the wires that – if connected – would start the truck without a key.

He had a grim smile as he recalled it had been Harro Eckner who had taught them that trick. Harro... the snake, the traitor, the... But that could wait. First he had to get his people out.

Without anyone bothering him, he drove off towards Gestapo headquarters. (Amazing what you could get away with, simply by pretending it's the most normal thing in the world to do...) The truck was heavy, and more difficult to steer than an ordinary car, so Karl took no chances and drove very carefully through the still sleeping streets of inner Berlin.

And there was his destination.

He parked the van at the bottom of the stairs, released the contact, made sure the cardoor was unlocked, and with a quick prayer (_"This time it's just You and me, Lord. So let's get them."_) he took the stairs for the second time that night to report to the receptionist.

"Guten Morgen, mein Herr," he greeted the man affably. It was still the same one as when he had left the building a few hours ago.

He brought the Heil Hitler salute, which the man silently reciprocated.

"What is your business?" the clerk asked sourly.

"I'm Colonel von Le Fort, the aide of General Atzorn."

The clerk raised his eyebrows. General Atzorn was one of the biggest big shots in Germany – and Marya had had some dealings with him recently, so Karl was quite up-to-date with the General's relations and position in society.

"Papers, please," the clerk requested, and the noble visitor handed them to him.

"In Ordnung," the clerk mumbled with an air of disappointment after a short but hawkish study of them. He gave them back to the Colonel and inquired in a still morose tone, "What is your business then, Colonel?"

"Well, word has reached the General about Oskar Danzig's resistance unit being held in custody here, and – this _is_ true, isn't it?" he interrupted himself.

The clerk nodded.

"Good. But we were left to understand that the lady Marya was not among them. This is also correct?"

The clerk shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know their names. You'd better speak to Major Lüpertz himself. He is the one in charge of the case."

"Excellent. Will you please inform him then that I wish to speak with him on behalf of General Atzorn? You may tell him it is a matter of great importance."

A frugal look was his share. "I'm afraid the Major is not available at the moment, Herr Colonel. He's been in consultation all night."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it about time for a break then? Besides, I represent General Atzorn in this matter. Would he let the General wait?"

The look turned to ice. "We shall see." He picked up the phone and dialled a short number. "Krug? This is reception. I have an envoy of General Atzorn here who insists on speaking to Major Lüpertz right away. Go ask him if he wants to be disturbed, okay?"

A long pause, in which the Colonel leisurely looked around and admired the stucco-work and the architectural intricacies of the hall. "Beautiful building," he commented quietly to the sour receptionist. "Very tasteful indeed."

The receptionist gave him a glare, but turned his attention back to the telephone. "Ja? Was? Nein? Gut. Heil Hitler." With a menacing little smile he turned back to his visitor. "I'm sorry, but Herr Major does not wish to be interrupted. Not even by the envoy of General Atzorn himself."

Suddenly the Colonel straightened himself to his full impressive height and thundered, "Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed...! Take me to him – now!"

The toad of a receptionist withered under this giant vocal attack. "But... but... Herr Colonel, he..."

"I said _now_!"

"J... jawohl, Herr Colonel... But I warn you: it's at your own risk!"

"I don't care. Take me to this man, or _you_ will suffer the consequences of the General's wrath as much as he will!"

"Of course, Herr Colonel. Follow me, please."

Keeping the anger in his step and the controlled blaze in his eyes, Colonel von Le Fort followed the boor down an arched corridor that ended at a heavy, iron-studded door, guarded by two men.

"The good Colonel here _insists_ on having a word with Major Lüpertz this very moment," the clerk murmured with anticipated gloat. "Please escort him down into the dungeons to see the major."

The two guards exchanged a glance, but the one on the left took out a heavy key, opened the door, and gestured for their guest to follow him.

An awful smell – damp and fuggy and rotten – hit him in the face as he followed the guard into the dark hole. There was no light, but the guard took a torch from a holder in the wall before pulling the heavy door shut. "Careful now, Herr Colonel," he mumbled. "It's rather slippery here."

By the light of his torch they descended the twenty-four steps down into this present-day hell. It was eerily quiet – only from the right somewhere came the muffled sound of voices.

It was exactly the direction in which the guard took him. Karl dreaded every step. Any moment he expected to step on some forgotten bodypart, left lying around to rot – not that he saw any in the light of the torch. But it was just the entire atmosphere that brought back some of the spooky horror stories he secretly used to read as a young teenager. The ones you read merely to challenge yourself to deal with some horrible nightmares the night following...

The guard stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked loudly. A little shutter was shoved aside and an annoyed, blond face appeared. "What now?"

"Um..."

Karl heard gasping sobs in the background, and a knot formed in his stomach. Was that one of his people?

"Na?" the major demanded.

"Um, well, the Colonel who was sent here by General Atzorn didn't want to wait, sir. He wants to talk to you. _Now_ – he says."

The major's eyes flitted to his face, and Karl kept his gaze steady. "Yes, I am Colonel von Le Fort. And I suggest you grant me a few minutes of your precious time, _Herr_ Major." The way he stressed the Herr-title did not bode well for the major, and angrily, the Gestapoman ordered the guard to open the door for him.

"Na? What is this?" he demanded as he stood opposite his unwanted visitor with his hands defiantly on his hips.

Once more, the Colonel straightened to his full height, which made him easily a head taller than the major. "You are Major Lüpertz, I presume?"

"Ja. Und?"

"Major Lüpertz, General Atzorn, who is my direct superior, has received word that you have captured practically the entire resistance unit of the man known as Oskar Danzig, and he commends you for that.

"However, the General happens to know that the lady Marya – the Russian medium – has connections with these people."

"That is no news to me. So?"

"Herr Major..." The Colonel leaned forward a little in an attempt at confidentiality in these horrid surroundings. "Just between the two of us, Herr Major, General Atzorn is madly in love with this lady Marya. In fact, he wants to marry her. But General von Weitershausen has filched her away from him, and he is desperate to get her back. He sent me to take Danzig's people to him, so that he may personally question them on the matter. He is certain they should be able to tell him how to contact her."

"Hm. Then why doesn't he come here himself to question them?"

"But Herr Major!" The Colonel looked shocked. "The matter is far too delicate for that. No, no, these people _must_ be brought to his place. Now – _today_! And once he's done with them, he says he'd be happy to release them back to you."

The major gave him a suspicious glare. "It sounds awfully fishy to me. Where are your orders?"

The Colonel pulled them from his pocket, and Major Lüpertz studied them by the light of the guard's torch. "Hm. It looks authentic enough. At least the signature is real."

"Of course it is." Over the years, Marya had collected dozens and dozens of authentic signatures from the big shots. And it really didn't take all that much practice to copy them.

The major was still studying the orders. "Still, it is highly unusual," he persisted.

"Herr Major, it is unusual because it's such an awkward situation. It might easily lead to a scandal. And seeing that this would involve not just the two leading military men in the Third Reich, but even our esteemed and beloved Führer who originally promoted this Marya wherever he could..." A significant pause. "Personally, I don't think it would be a good idea for the General to marry this woman. But who am I to gainsay the biggest military mind beside the Führer? Or to waylay him in his search for the woman of his heart?"

The major looked half convinced. "Okay, I'll let him have one of them."

"All of them," Colonel von Le Fort insisted sternly. "My orders are very clear. I have to take _all_ of Danzig's associates to see the General. There is no telling which of them can help him find this woman."

The major smirked. "Well, there's not all that many left. We shot most of them yesterday. To set an example for other maladjusted troublemakers in town."

"All the more reason to let me have all those that are left. And heaven forbid that you shot the ones who did know how to contact this woman."

The major flinched. "Alright, all of them. But I do want them back."

"Of course." When the cows come home. "Now will you please line them up for me?"

Major Lüpertz gestured to the guard, and together they opened four adjoining cells.

Karl kept his face carefully placid as four human figures were dragged out by the light of the torch – caked in blood and dirt and unmentionables.

"Well, here you are," Major Lüpertz said. His face got that suspicious look again. "Where are your men? Or do you intend to guard them all by yourself?"

The Colonel sighed. "Herr Major, if you don't believe me, why don't you call General Atzorn yourself? I'm sure he'd be delighted to confide in you all the secrets of his personal life."

The major blushed a little, and the Colonel continued, "And I assure you I am more than capable of handling a handful of shackled and broken prisoners by myself. I have my gun. Now the key, if you please."

"The key?"

"Of their handcuffs of course! How can I shackle them to the van if I can't open their handcuffs?"

"Oh. Yes." A small key changed hands, and the Colonel ordered, "Now quick – march! Get them upstairs and into the truck. I don't want the General to be kept waiting any longer than necessary."

That took some doing, but with the help from the two guards and the major, the four men got hauled into the back of the truck and were securely shackled to the side rail.

With a proud Heil Hitler greeting, Colonel von Le Fort took his leave, and with a happily rumbling motor the van moved away from the kerb to destinations unknown.

* * *

It wasn't until they had left the city behind them that Karl pulled over and stopped the truck in a quiet spot. In the dawning twilight he opened up the canvas flap that gave him access to the back of the truck, and crawled into the cold space on all fours.

There was a moan to his right. He had no flashlight to see who it was, so... "It's okay. It's me – Oskar. You're on your way to safety."

"Oskar?" An icy cold hand sought his, and he grabbed it. Firmly. "Didn't they get you, too?" It was Volker.

He shook his head. "No. They almost did, but I got away. Are you okay?"

"They told me they shot you," came a cracked voice from his left.

Karl turned to him. "Josel? Is that you?"

"Yes. I think so."

Karl heaved a sigh. "Well, I've been told by two different Gestapo sources that they shot everyone else. Everyone but you four."

A shallow sigh from ahead. "At least they've been spared this hell." It was Dieter. And next to him was Berthold – Berthold Fischer from the fish shop. He was mercifully asleep. Or unconscious.

Carefully, Karl stepped around them in search of valuable commodities. But all he found were a few blankets, which he tucked in around his friends with care.

"Water?" Josel whispered.

"I don't have any – I'm sorry. I'll get some at the first open shop we pass," he promised. He got up. "We better get going. I'll have to leave you shackled to keep up appearances in case we get stopped. But with a bit of luck, you should be well cared for and in relative safety before midday."

"Where are we going?" Volker inquired in a tired voice.

"Neustadt, near Kiel," was the answer. "And from there hopefully to Denmark."

* * *

It took some doing to convince Father Kilius that he really was the same guy as the one who had brought seven dying retarded children here three years ago. But Karl knew too many particulars to be doubted, and of course the good Father was willing to help the four badly abused men who so wholly unannounced had arrived at his doorstep.

And Karl was more than a little grateful that at least _one_ old friend was still where he was supposed to be.

Together, they helped the four men into the shed, and Father Kilius washed their wounds and helped them drink some hot broth. All but Berthold, who indeed seemed to be unconscious.

Karl helped Father Kilius to the best of his abilities. And cleaned up and getting a little warmer, at least three of his friends looked a little better already.

Josel pulled him down on his knees by his side. "Oskar, what are _you_ going to do? Will you come to Denmark with us? I'm sure we can find a way to keep fighting from there."

Karl shook his head. "It's tempting, I admit. But I've got some unfinished business in Berlin."

Josel's bruised eyes searched his face. "You know who's responsible for this, don't you. Who betrayed us." It wasn't even a question.

And Karl nodded. "But he won't get away with it – I promise."

A shallow sigh. "Then promise _me_ something, too." He paused, holding his friend's eyes. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? I'd like to see you again some day."

Karl had a sad smile. "I'll try."

* * *

After a few hours' nap in Father Kilius's easy chair, Oskar said farewell to his friends and gave them a poste restante address (1) for them to drop him a line how they were doing.

However, with no one left for him in Berlin, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with himself next. Danzig was certainly out of the question, Marya had been compromised, his entire resistance team had been eliminated or removed... What else was there in Berlin for him, other than his taking care of Harro, and the Gestapo who by the sound of it was still looking for him?

Well, he'd think of something. But first he ditched the stolen Luftwaffetruck not far from the port of Rostock, changed back to his own inconspicuous Langenscheidt persona with the help of some clothes he had borrowed from Father Kilius, and took the train back to Berlin.

* * *

.

(1) _Poste restante: that's what my dictionary calls it, but apparently the term isn't widely known in English speaking territory. From the discussion with SlytherinDragoon, it turns out that the apparently more common term for it is *General Delivery*: letters addressed to a local post office, where they are kept until the addressee comes to pick them up in person. _

_This was still widely in use in at least Germany in the fifties: it plays a major part in the original novel of The Parent Trap by Erich Kästner. Many post offices even had a special teller for Poste Restante, so it must have been quite popular in those days. _

_One of the most common uses for it was for young couples to communicate and exchange loveletters without their parents finding out, using pseudonyms like fairy tale figures etc. For as I understand, you didn't really have to present any ID to get your poste restante letters. Just asking if there was any mail for (for example) Snowwhite would do. Though I can imagine embarrassing mix-ups to happen with that... _


	17. Justice?

_Author's note: Thanks to Snooky and Sgt. Moffitt for the inspiration for one of the headlines below!_ ;-)

.

* * *

.

Returning to Berlin, he got a bit of a chuckle when he caught sight of the tabloids.

"**OSKAR DANZIG IS A SHAM**"

and

"**Famous Female Impersonator Is A Woman:  
OSKAR – OSKARIA!**"

it jumped out at the passers-by with big fat letters on the front pages.

So that's what those two talkative Gestapo guys had been on about. Apparently, Lüpertz had been so pissed off over his failure to grab the 'real' Danzig, that out of spite he had sold the story of Danzig being a female to the press. Probably to get back at the female version of Danzig, but if Karl Langenscheidt had any insight in the mind of the public, this news was likely to only double Danzig's popularity.

But at least it freed _him_ from the role. Well, good riddance. He _never_ wanted to dress up as a woman again in his life!

To his silent surprise, nothing had really changed in the city. People just went on living, working and meeting over a beer as if nothing had ever happened. But then, maybe it hadn't – not for them.

But for him, things were violently different. It already started when he came home, turning the lock behind him and entering his living-room.

It seemed terribly empty. Empty – and lonely.

Which was rather odd, for as a precaution, he had never, ever had anyone over here for a visit. He knew where to find his friends, and for him, that had been enough.

But now there was nobody left.

Nobody – except that detestable Harro Eckner.

He sank down in his favourite chair and hid his face in his hands. _Don't do anything stupid_, Josel had said. _Was_ it stupid what he wanted to do? Or rather, what he felt compelled to do?

He felt he could cry for his friends. Benno, Olaf, Lena, Tobias, Sanne, Kläre, Uwe – Schattner... Shot, like bloody animals.

He felt he could cry for the four he had managed to rescue from the Gestapo, and whom he would probably never see again.

He felt he could cry for Father Werner, taken away to Lord-knows-where, and he didn't have the faintest idea where to start searching for him.

But boys don't cry, he had always been taught.

And focusing on being furiously, excruciatingly mad at Harro, feeling that he could wring the guy's neck with his bare hands for what he had done... it made it easier somehow to hold back the tears.

He decided to give it a few days, so Harro would begin to feel safe. In the meantime, he sent a sweet little note in Marya's name to General Rommel, explaining that she had been called away to Paris on urgent family business, and apologizing for not being able to meet him anymore any time soon. For even though Marya had been compromised, the damage done was certainly not beyond recall. At least not for someone with _her_ connections and skills. And anyhow, her familiarity with the big brass might still prove to be useful at a later date.

The few days pause also gave him the chance to study up on the subject he was about to put into practice. From early morning till late at night he sat poised over his thrillers and detectives, taking note of every little detail that might trip the bad guy. There were bound to be other pitfalls of course, but _these_ mistakes at least he should be able to consciously avoid.

He decided to put his plan into action the following Saturday afternoon, when Harro was likely to be home after work.

So that afternoon, he dressed in the inconspicuous dark Gestapo outfit (but put the party-pin in his pocket for now) and sat down at his dressing table to fix his features. His hair a few shades lighter, with some distinctive grey at the temples. A sleek comb-over. Some wax to elongate his ears. His face a little paler, a little thinner, ending in a rather pointy chin. Thin, narrow lips, the nose a bit smaller, defaced by an ugly inflamed pustule. The eyebrows slightly longer and blonder, the eyes small and shrewd, with wrinkles that sure hadn't developed from laughing. A small scar on his stubbly neck (he hadn't shaved all week to create that effect). Sharp lines above the nose and from the nose's wings to the corners of the mouth, and as usual, it was a total stranger looking back at him from the mirror.

He nodded grimly to his reflection, and got up to get his coat. The papers in his pocket, money in the other, the gloves, the hat, today's accessory, and he was ready.

With a decisive click he pulled the front door shut behind him. The stairs, the street. He strode down to the Königsallee at a grim pace, and took the tram to Köpenick on the other side of Berlin. A garage was easily found, and shortly afterwards he sought his way back to Harro's place in a rented car, and with the party-pin proudly displayed on his tie.

And there was the house. And as the car pulled up to the kerb, the last remnants of Karl Langenscheidt disappeared and made way for Major Simon Schamoni.

He got out of the car, slammed the door shut and strode up to the door of number fifty-two.

A pretty woman opened at his knock, her eyes growing wide as they immediately noticed the tell-tale party-pin on the visitor's tie.

And under his rigid Heil Hitler greeting, Karl suddenly wavered. He had never considered the possibility that Harro might be married – perhaps even had kids?

But he forced himself to steel his heart. Harro had been the cause of nearly forty families losing their loved ones. The guy didn't deserve any compassion.

"Guten Tag, gnädige Frau," he snarled, clicking his heels and bowing stiffly, as if being courteous and polite didn't come easy to him. "I am looking for Herr Eckner. Is he home?"

"Yes," came Harro's wary voice from further down the hall. And there he was. "What is it you want?"

"Herr Eckner." Another Heil Hitler greeting – deftly returned – and more clicking of the heels. "My name is Simon Schamoni. Major with the Brandenburg Gestapo, section two. I was referred to you by Major Lüpertz – you know him well, I believe."

"Yes." Still wary.

"We have apprehended a man in Joachimsthal this morning whom we have reason to believe to be the notorious resistance leader Oskar Danzig. I have been told that you may be able to positively identify him. This is true?"

Eckner hesitated. "I might, yes, but I can't guarantee that I'll be able to. I've met him quite often, yes, but the man is a master of disguises."

"But certainly you can give it a try. So I'm here to escort you to our Joachimsthal jail. To have you try and identify this man as Danzig."

Harro glanced at his wife. "Alright. I'll come with you." He took his jacket down from the coat-rack and his wife helped him into it.

"Be careful, honey," she whispered as he buttoned up his coat.

"Sure." He kissed her on the forehead, and followed the Major out to his car.

They drove off in silence, and it wasn't until they had exchanged the city of Berlin for the woods of northern Brandenburg that Schamoni opened the conversation. "I understand that you were responsible for rolling up Danzig's entire gang."

Harro smiled a little. "That's true. Well, sort of. I only passed on their names to Major Lüpertz. He did the rest."

"May I ask how you collected that information? Surely you must have gone undercover and joined them to find out so many names. I heard there were some forty people involved."

"Yes, I did join them. At Major Lüpertz's request. I suspected one of my friends to be involved, and with some carefully placed remarks, I got him to sound me out on whether I would like to join the resistance movement. And of course I said yes."

So that's how it happened – Lüpertz had suspected something, and sent in Harro to try and infiltrate. And Harro had lured someone into introducing him. The snake, the...

"It was kind of fun actually," Harro continued. "Danzig is a bit stuck-up of course, and he had a couple of people around him who said 'amen' to anything he said..." _(Is that how it had come across? It certainly wasn't true...)_ "...But once he accepted me and saw that I had some skills he could use, he let me participate in their operations now and then. And believe me – even though I didn't support their cause, blowing up things really is cool!"

Schamoni had a thin smile. "I can imagine."

They were both silent for a moment until Schamoni asked, " And this Danzig character – you never found out who he was?"

Harro shook his head. "I tried to follow him a few times after his work in the theatre. But that was hopeless – there was no knowing what he'd look like from one day to the next."

Schamoni nodded. "That's what it says in his dossier, too. The man must be leading a double life, and maybe even more than one. For according to our records, there is no person named Oskar Danzig."

Harro agreed. "I don't think any of his followers knew his true identity either – not even his closest confidants. All they knew of him was that he was the famous female impersonator. But nobody seems to know who's behind _that_ role either."

Schamoni raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Didn't I read just last week that the infamous female impersonator Oskar Danzig is really a woman?"

Harro sighed. "A trick from the real Danzig no doubt."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, Major Lüpertz told me that the theatre's director insists that he had been called by some doctor from the Stadthospital that morning, who told him that Danzig was in hospital with pneumonia. But no calls had been made from the hospital to the theatre all day – not even in the past three months. And the operator's logs traced the call back to a small hotel in Charlottenburg – to a man named Kurt Hagedorn with a fake address, who had stayed there for only that night."

"And they think this Hagedorn might have been the real Danzig," Schamoni summarized.

"Yes. Besides, he matches the description of one of the people who left the theatre by the stage door that night. And according to the theatre's director, this girl who played Danzig's part was only filling in for him because they didn't want to cancel the show. So the real Danzig is still at large."

A thin smile. "Maybe not. And that's where you come in today."

Harro smiled. "It'd be my pleasure."

They drove on again in silence, until Major Schamoni turned into a metalled road leading deeper into the woods.

"Where are we going?" Harro inquired as small stones were jostled about, hitting the fenders with irregular clangs.

"We have our special facilities in some nearly forgotten barracks here in the woods," Schamoni explained. "Nice and secluded, so the passers-by aren't bothered by a scream or two."

Harro paled visibly. "You mean a torture chamber?"

"We prefer to think of it as intensive questioning," the major replied smoothly. "But not to worry – we won't put _you_ on the rack."

"What r...?" Harro closed his mouth – apparently unwilling to learn what kind of rack the major meant. Instead he asked, "You haven't tortured him _yet_, have you? I mean intensive questioning," he amended quickly.

"A little," Schamoni admitted. "So far, he's frightfully stubborn. But that only adds to the challenge, doesn't it?"

Harro made no reply, and looked at the dilapidated concrete blocks up ahead among the trees. The gloomy light of a late winter afternoon did nothing to improve the impression of death and decay.

Suddenly the car came to a halt. "Come," Major Schamoni told him.

They got out, and sought their way through a veritable sea of nettles and scratchy brambles.

"Coming from Joachimstal, the place is easier to reach from the other side," Schamoni excused their difficult approach. And indeed, when they rounded the building, they stepped out into a large overgrown clearing.

Harro looked around at the knee-high grass and the muddy, unused dirt road leading off through the trees. "Not many people coming here, are there."

"Well, Danzig does."

Harro turned back to him. "So where..."

A fierce, totally unexpected punch on the jaw sent him reeling, until he tripped and tumbled down on his backside. "What...?" he began to ask in askance. But looking up, straight into the muzzle of an unwavering revolver, he knew the answer.

"You're Danzig."

"Yes."

With that, the situation seemed to have reached a stalemate. For several awfully long minutes, neither man moved or spoke a word.

It was Harro who at last broke the silence. "So what are you going to do – shall we remain frozen in this tableau till kingdom comes?"

Karl made no reply. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on his fiend, with his finger tight on the trigger... but what now? He had visualized this, even acted it out this past week – a dozen, a hundred times. But to really do it in practice... To _shoot_ a man...?

Harro seemed to sense his hesitation, for slowly, he began to get up. And saw his suspicions confirmed as Danzig stepped back.

He smiled – a little superior smile. "You're no killer, are you."

"Hands up," was all he got in reply.

Obediently, Harro raised his hands to shoulders' level, and slowly, he began to move toward his nemesis. "You're no killer, Oskar," he spoke gently, inching closer and closer, forcing Karl back even further. "I know you aren't. So why don't you put away that gun, and we can work this out between the two of us."

Karl stepped back again. And again. He knew he was quickly losing the upper hand in the situation, even though _he_ was the one holding the gun. But to actually look the guy in the eye and _shoot_ him...!

"Put – down – the gun, Oskar," the smooth voice in front of him droned. "You won't shoot me. I know you won't."

His hand was trembling uncontrollably, and he placed his left hand over the right to steady the gun. "Don't move," he ordered shakily as Harro came yet another step closer.

The feet stopped moving forward, but now the hand approached him – a giant, spidery hand, totally out of proportion, trying to...

"Give me the gun, Oskar."

A shot echoed off the concrete walls behind him, and as in slow motion, Karl saw the man in front of him topple over backwards. His eyes were mesmerized by the little hole in the jacket – a hole that was surrounded by a quickly growing stain of bloodred.

Some rustling, a thump, and there he lay – motionless at his feet.

Slowly, as in a trance, Karl lowered the revolver. His eyes were still locked on that little hole with the red stain around it. It was about the position of the heart, he distantly noted.

But the guy was still breathing, wasn't he? He clearly heard the gasps of... No, that was his own breathing – irregular and wheezing. The guy lying there at his feet in the long grass didn't move at all. He must be...

He looked down at his hands. They were holding a gun.

_A gun_.

_He_ was holding a gun.

And there, at his feet...!

In a sudden panic, he shook the gun out of his hand as if it were a snake. He hadn't... he _had't_...! Had he?

Without thinking, he tore off across the clearing and into the woods – further, further from... Crashing through the undergrowth, jumping ditches, clawing his way up on shallow hills, leaping over logs and branches in his way, he just ran blindly on, with only one goal: to get away – as far away as possible. Not from that place, no – from what he had done...

The woods of northern Brandenburg are extensive, and it wasn't until he had violent spasms in his side and he was gasping for air that he allowed himself to drop down on all fours and crawl in under a dense rhododendron bush. And there he curled up, shutting out the world, hoping to become invisible.

"_You're no killer_," Harro's voice taunted him.

Well, now he was. He had _killed_ a man. _Shot_ a man in cold blood. Knowingly and deliberately _murdered_ a man.

"_What am I turning into – a professional crook?_" he had asked Schattner at the time.

Well, now there could be no doubt anymore. Karl Johann Langenscheidt was more than just a petty crook – he was a real criminal. A killer. A murderer. And the fact that it had been done for justice – as a payback for Harro being ultimately responsible for the death of nearly forty of his friends... Somehow, that suddenly was of no importance at all anymore. All that counted was that _he_ – Karl Langenscheidt – had deliberately _killed_ a man. '_Killed_' – as in '_ending a man's life_'.

Suddenly the tears couldn't be stopped anymore. _Don't do anything stupid_, Josel had said. Well, he _had_ done it.

And as the floodgates opened to give an outlet for his shame and remorse, the grief about Schattner and Father Werner and Olaf and Tobias and all those others finally sought its way out as well. And by the time he became aware of his surroundings again, it was dark.


	18. Hamelburg

_Author's note: I better warn you to brace yourself when reading this. There will be a rather gruesome sight in this chapter. Don't worry – it's brief, and I'm not going into any graphic details at all, but at least you've been forewarned._

.

* * *

"Karl," she whispered, lest the other Karl would overhear. "Karl, lie still! Stop the fidgeting – you're only making it worse!" She struggled to hold down his shoulders, to at least keep the body with the ugly shotwound steady, but it only made the patient more frantic.

"One of those febrile nightmares, no doubt," Karl's gruff voice said from behind her.

"So help me to keep him still! You heard what the doctor said!"

Karl squatted down beside her, but did nothing to help her restrain their wounded leader. "Maryse, I bet he's been through enough these past years to merit some horrible nightmares. Maybe you should just... you know, _hold_ him. Gently. Like a parent comforting a child with a nightmare."

Maryse glanced at him. Maybe he was right. After all, he had raised three children of his own – two of which had been killed at the front. He'd certainly have had his share of experience with nightmares.

She released her grip on Karl's shoulders, and hesitantly pulled him half upright in her arms.

The effect was instantaneous. He clung to her as if he were drowning, his too slender body jerking with gasping sobs.

"Ssh," she murmured over his shoulder. "It's okay. You're safe. Just hold on and you'll be fine."

A moan welled up from deep inside him. "I'm sorry, Harro," Maryse made out. "I'm sorry..."

She closed her eyes and held him tight, the poor burning head resting against her cheek.

Harro... She knew _that_ story alright...

* * *

Stiffly, he rolled over and sat up. Where was he? And what time was it?

The latter question was easily answered by peering at his watch by the dark light of the night. Around half past seven, the hands told him. Not exactly night yet.

The other question was less easy to answer. 'Somewhere in the Kienhorst Woods between north Berlin and Joachimsthal' was as close a guess as he could get. He knew where _the_ place was when coming from the city. But he had no idea in what direction he had run off from there this afternoon. Or even whether he had run in a somewhat straight line.

But no matter in what direction he had run, going southwest should eventually bring him back to Berlin. But in these dense woods, it was impossible to make out the stars, even in winter time, thus crushing that option as well. Besides, the sky had been covered all day, so it was doubtful whether there would be any stars at all tonight.

No. The best thing to do was probably to simply stay put, and seek his way back at dawn, when at least he would have some idea where he was going.

The night was long and chilly. Occasionally he crept out of his hide-out and walked around a bit – to stretch his limbs and get a little warmer.

But he always crawled back under the rhododendron bush, for the semblance of shelter and seclusion it gave him. And there he sat, with his knees pulled up to his chin, trying with all his might to block the image of the little hole with the growing red stain around it from his mind.

Yet the harder he tried, the more persistently it haunted him – enlarged, up close, zoomed in.

In a way, Harro had been smarter. He had just passed on names, and had let Major Lüpertz take care of the dirty work. _He_ hadn't stood eye to eye with the people he had killed, having to pull the trigger himself and watching blood spread from a sudden little hole in their clothes as they fell.

He screwed his eyes shut. That fit of crying certainly had left him much calmer. More rational. But he wasn't sure whether he'd ever be able to live with himself again...

When dawn came, he crawled out of his hiding place, and set off cross country in what was an approximately southwestern direction, until he found sandy track heading the same way.

That is – until he passed a farmer who openly stared at him, and then quickly walked on.

What – ? Was it written on his forehead that he had killed a man?

No – good heavens! Of course, his make-up! Crying wasn't the wisest thing to do in make-up in the first place, and brushing at your tears was about the biggest no-no there was. He probably looked enough of a fright to scare a scarecrow.

There were indeed a few whitish smears on his gloves and his sleeves. Which meant he really had to find a mirror before he could get back to civilization. Even the rearview mirror in the car would do.

The thought stopped dead in its tracks. The car – he had to go and pick up the car! That was one of the _not_ so little mistakes that could give you away: leaving your belongings at the scene of the crime. Okay, the car wasn't technically his, but if the police were a little determined, they might trace the man renting it back to his apartment building. _Not_ a good idea. So much for his studying up on the _small_ mistakes...

And he suddenly remembered another not so little mistake: he had dropped the gun before he had run off. He was absolutely certain there were no fingerprints on it – he had thoroughly cleaned it beforehand, and never taken off his gloves yesterday – but still...

Which meant he was now obliged to do the one thing that often became the downfall of the villains in the books: he had to return to the scene of the crime.

He didn't want to. He _really_ didn't want to. He'd much rather avoid the place by a hundred square miles.

But apparently it could not be helped. He had to go back there to pick up the car and the gun. That is of course, if the police hadn't been there before him. And if he could find the place at all...

He wandered on in an approximate southwestern direction, avoiding human contact (not that many people would venture into these woods on a chilly Sunday morning in January), and debating with himself whether or not he should simply turn himself in to the police.

When he passed a small lake that lay there as smooth as a mirror, he took out the few sticks of make-up he carried and squatted down at the margin to fix his features. The result sure wasn't perfect, but at least he wouldn't scare the living daylights out of people anymore.

Now that he was presentable again, he sought his way back to the nearest path or road. Only to discover that he _knew_ this road – he had come out maybe half a kilometer past the turn-off to _the_ place.

So he crossed the road and made his way back to the deserted barracks through the woods.

All was quiet there. Dreadfully quiet. No sound but that of the rustling leaves and cracking dead twigs under his own boots.

Had they found Harro yet? Were they lying in wait for the killer to come and pick up his car and his gun?

The car was still there – he could clearly make it out on the path.

But to retrieve the gun, he'd have to go around to the other side of the barracks. Past Harro's body – his _dead_ body, with the tell-tale little hole in it.

But first he crouched down behind some bare bushes. First he wanted to know if the place was being watched. With policemen patrolling and taking pictures and samples and everything.

He waited half an hour. An hour. An hour and a half. Two. But nothing moved around him, save for the branches in the breeze and an occasional bird or small animal in the dead leaves on the ground.

And finally, finally he mustered up the courage to go and take a look.

Carefully he stuck to the trail of crushed and broken nettles they had made the day before. Sherlock Holmes may still be able to deduce that someone had taken that path again much later, but fortunately Mr. Holmes didn't work for the Berlin police.

As he came to the side of the building, he slowed down more and more. What if Harro hadn't really been dead, and was now waiting for him in an ambush to jump him on the neck?

He shuddered, and brought back the image of the little hole and the motionless man at his feet. No doubt about it – he had been dead.

The knowledge still didn't stop the shudders as he reluctantly inched his way to the corner of the building. A deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and... Good Lord, what...?

His stomach turned, trying to throw up its contents. But after twenty-four hours without food, there wasn't much left in there to throw up.

He spat out the bitter juices in his mouth, and cautiously, warily looked again.

It was true. It wasn't his imagination. There, in the flattened long grass, lay a bloody carcass – eaten bare to the bone.

The wolves, he realized. Or other beasts of prey that lived here in these woods. Oh God, this wasn't what he had intended...!

Then again – what _had_ he intended to do with the body?

He realized now that – for the first time in years – he hadn't quite thought his plan through. He had been so intent on shooting Harro that all his plans had stopped cold at the moment that would have been accomplished.

But even now – even if it _hadn't_ been ravaged by the wolves – even now he shied away from the thought of handling, even touching a dead body to bury it properly. Not to mention having to do so in yesterday's panic.

But all in all, he still had to go past the hideous bloody carcass to fetch the gun. So he took a deep breath, estimated the distance, screwed his eyes shut and edged his way along the rough walls of the barracks. Peering through his eyelashes – yes, he made it.

Now he had to look for the gun, and preferably without looking at the carcass.

Luck was with him – it lay but a few feet to his right. And picking it up, he also noticed the glimmer of the spent cartridge a little further off. With those things out of the way, and with the body in such a state, his pragmatic self argued that it would be practically impossible for the police to even _suspect_ that the man had been shot before the wolves got to him. Let alone prove it.

Another deep breath, eyes screwed shut, and he edged back along the wall until he had rounded the corner of the building.

"I'm sorry, Harro," he breathed.

And he really, really was.

* * *

In the end, he didn't turn himself in. He kept telling himself that he would as soon as there would be a mention of a man found in the woods of Kienhorst, ravaged by wolves.

But it remained strangely quiet. Almost as if it had never happened. Almost as if no one _cared_.

But he knew all too well that there was someone who cared. Someone who had probably lived in fearful anxiety ever since her husband hadn't come home from his trip with this Major Schamoni to go and identify Oskar Danzig.

At last he simply couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't have the guts to go and tell her in person, but at least he could end her limbo by letting her know that her husband was dead.

Aware of the many pitfalls when making a message out of newspaper letters, he made sure he never touched any of the papers without gloves, and he burnt all the leftovers in the stove as soon as he was done.

And sometime during that night, a woman sneaked up to Harro's house, and left a short, clipped out message in its mailbox. '_Your husband is dead. My condolances_,' it read.

A few days later he could finally collect the letter he'd been waiting for himself. Carefully worded as one had to do nowadays, Josel brought both good and bad tidings.

* * *

'_Dear Friend,_

_Finally a word from us. And I have to start with bad news: B didn't make it. He finally passed away yesterday, without ever waking up. He will have found peace now, and happiness in the reunion with his wife and his children. _

_We others have recovered pretty well. V has returned to Germany, to go and live with relatives in S. D and I have decided to stay here for now, helping new arrivals to settle in, and to help our new friends to find fosterhomes for them. The language is quite a barrier, but we're learning._

_I hope everything is alright with you? Let me know how you handled that problem we last spoke about if you can. If you should get yourself into trouble now, we won't even be able to return the huge favour you did us the last time, so please, be careful!_

_We do miss our homes and our old friends, though somehow none of what happened seems to be quite real. Maybe we are too far from our old lives to truly realize what has happened. Or maybe we just don't want to think about it. But we'll be fine, I'm sure._

_Please let us know how you are faring. You can contact us by poste restante in Rödby._

_Take care, my friend, and thank you for everything. May God bless any path you take._

_Your friends.'_

* * *

Slowly, Karl lowered the letter and stared out of the window. Of course Josel wanted to know what he had done about the 'problem'. His words at the time – '_Don't do anything stupid'_ – clearly indicated that he had suspected what his friend was planning, and didn't particularly approve of it.

Yet he _had_ done it.

Or had he?

Sometimes he seriously wondered if indeed he had done it. Shot and killed Harro Eckner, and finding his body ravaged by wolves the next day. If it hadn't been just a nightmare. A dream. _Not real_.

Granted, the place wasn't exactly as busy as central Berlin. It could be a while before someone took that path to those disused and dilapidated barracks again, especially at this time of year.

But surely his wife must have reported his going missing? After all, it wasn't like he'd been swiped off '_in Nacht und Nebel_' for Nazi purposes, which they always hushed up.

So why hadn't some large scale search been launched? Like they usually did when people went missing? And Major Schamoni had mentioned Joachimsthal in her presence, so they did have something to go on.

Occasionally he even toyed with the unbearable thought that he'd been wrong. That Harro's cooperation with the Gestapo had been a ruse, a smokescreen, and that they had uncovered his deceit and were actually content to be rid of him. It would explain why there was no public search for him, but it didn't make any sense at all for Harro's own role in this. For if he was a double agent, who really worked _against_ the Gestapo, then what good would it do for him to turn in an entire resistance group?

All in all, Karl Langenscheidt became a bit of a recluse after all this. He still went out for groceries of course, but the rest of his time he spent pacing his apartment, morbidly reliving the horror of his undetected crime. If _only_ there'd be a few lines in the paper – _just_ to give him some semblance of closure...!

Until one afternoon, when he felt he was slowly going crazy with nothing to do, and decided to throw out all his female clothing. After all, if he were never to dress up as a woman again, what did he need those for?

It felt incredibly _good_ to tear those hated female clothes off their hangers and stuff them in boxes. Karl Langenscheidt was a _male_, and he wanted to know it, too!

But when he came to Marya's many evening dresses, he hesitated. Some of the ones he had gotten from Marya's big shot admirers were really beautiful. Couldn't he... Shouldn't he... like... save them for his future wife?

As he pondered how to explain these dresses to a possible wife, he was suddenly flooded by an overwhelming longing to settle down somewhere. Somewhere quiet – a small house in the country, with a loving wife and a few children and a dog and a coopful of chickens... Just _living_ together, in peace and quiet. As if today's horrid problems never existed.

He heaved a sigh and sank down on the footend of his bed. Perhaps what he needed was a break. Just to get away from it all for a while.

And what better place to go than the carefree vacation home of his childhood?

A note to his uncle was quickly dispatched, and the reply arrived by return post: of course he was welcome to come and stay with him for as long as he wished! Just let him know with which train he'd arrive, and he'd be there to meet him.

A nearly forgotten warmth spread in him. It had been way too long – three years in fact – since he had last seen his godfather. Or any of his family for that matter.

Maybe it was time for the prodigal son to return home. To leave the big bad city behind – a place where he had no friends left. Perhaps he could find that small house in the country, and find a wife, and settle down there and have a few children and so forth. He still had the gold in his old Swiss account – that should be more than enough to buy himself that little cottage of his dreams.

Thinking equalled doing in this case. So he gave his notice to the landlord, packed up his belongings (and in the end decided to keep much of the female stuff for that future wife anyway), sent it off to be stored in Düsseldorf for now, and met his uncle at Hamelburg station on a Friday afternoon in mid February.

As they looked the other over before they had their traditional bearhug, both uncle and nephew noticed that the other had gotten visibly older these past years. Maybe the uncle noted it most acutely. But he didn't say anything – not yet. If his godson wanted to talk about it, he would – in time.

Karl settled into his old room, and came down to the kitchen to a hearty supper.

"We've got to rush a bit," Uncle Frank said. "I've got a wedding to perform in forty-five minutes. Come to think of it – you're a legal adult now, aren't you? Would you mind being a witness? I believe we're still one short."

Karl chuckled. "Do I know them at all?"

"Not likely. They just moved here. Actually, they pretty much eloped. For he is Jewish, and the girl's parents are dead set against them marrying."

Karl heaved a sigh. "Can't blame them under the circumstances. A friend of mine in Berlin was married to a Jewish girl, too. They were all taken out and shot." He visibly repressed a shudder, and immediately felt his uncle's kind, searching eyes on him.

"You can talk to me, Karl. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded without looking up. "Maybe later."

His attending the wedding that night turned out to be important in that it got him straight back into his old business of helping Jews to get out of the country. For only a few weeks after the wedding, he was only _just_ in time to help the groom get away from the Gestapo. But when the guy pretty much seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and his young wife was being continuously harassed by the Gestapo as to where her husband was hiding, he ended up helping her deal with the menace and they became close friends. So close in fact, that when Magda shortly afterwards discovered that her husband had gotten her with child before he had had to flee, the town was convinced that Karl was the father, even though he had never touched the woman.

In the meantime he had found his little dream cottage in the woods south of Hamelburg. Besides, it felt good to stay close to his uncle, so he had bought it and moved in there. It was nice and secluded, too – an ideal base for destructive raids on registrar's offices where all the information on people's descent was kept.

But as it goes, one thing led to another. Soon he had gathered a few people around him with whom he once again did everything they could manage to thwart the Nazis and help innocent people to get to safety. At least Hamelburg had the distinct advantage of being close to the border, making it so much easier for people to get out before they were grabbed by the Gestapo.

Mostly out of habit, he only ever met these new friends in disguise, and under the name of Oskar Danzig. But he was adamant this time that he wanted to keep the group small – to give him the chance to really get to know everyone.

One of these people however was his playmate from childhood, Udo Steinmetz. Having spent all his school holidays in Hamelburg before he was old enough to work in the factory, he had made a few friends here, too, at the time. Of course he hadn't seen Udo for many, many years. But as Oskar Danzig, he always had to be a little extra alert around him, in order not to let slip anything that would give away his true identity to his childhood companion.

Meanwhile he became aware that it would be a good idea to have some funds flowing in again, too. Trying to get a job as an 'ordinary' actor met with as little success as ever. Throwing out a cautious feeler about Oskar Danzig however led to the usual fervent enthusiasm, and immediately the theatres were fighting again to engage him.

It was a bit risky of course, with the Berlin Gestapo being onto the famous impersonator equalling a notorious resistance leader. But he was fortunate enough to have a reliable source of information in the local Gestapo headquarters, where Monika (the eldest of Hasso the miller, one of his new resistance team) worked as a secretary. Having access to all files, she could assure him there was no national wanted notice out for Oskar Danzig. Apparently they limited their search to the Berlin area, or – although less likely – they had given up altogether.

So as long as he stayed away from Berlin, and Monika kept an eye on things at Gestapo headquarters, he should still be able to make the necessary money out of his fame.

And with a sigh he resumed the job he thought he had sworn off for good. Oh well, at least it was easy money. An extremely well paid job that would allow him not only to cover his own expenses, but also to help Magda provide for her coming baby, as well as for Jews and others to get out of the country.

And in hindsight, it was a good thing that he did go back to his old job. For if he hadn't, he might never have met the love of his life...

* * *

.

_Author's note: Can you believe that I expected to cram these past four chapters into one single one?_ :-o

_Anyway, for those interested: the story of Karl, Uncle Frank, Magda and David can be found in detail in chapters 4 to 8 of _The Pied Piper of Hamelburg_. These chapters are very readable as a stand-alone multi-shot within that story, and besides, I don't consider the rest of the story (written in the AU of _Theater of War_) to be part of _The Corporal Chronicles_ anyway._

_Be aware though that this particular story was written in the very very _very_ early days of _Chameleon Fever_, and reading it now, I cringe at the ease with which Karl reveals his being an impersonator there, and even a _female_ impersonator... If only for consistency reasons, I really ought to rewrite those passages one day._

_But in this story, we can now finally look forward to the awkward and rather funny situation of a female impersonator in full fig falling head over heels in love – only to find that the girl of his dreams doesn't want anything to do with him because he dresses up as a woman every night!_


	19. Maryse

"Maryse?"

Still cradling her loved one in her arms, she looked up into Karl's concerned eyes.

"I really can't stay any longer. Will you be alright on your own? Or shall I ask one of the others to come out here?"

She shook her head, and carefully lowered their burning hot leader down onto the sofa again. "I'll be fine. I can wait for Papa Bear here." Her eyes darted back to the highly feverish man on the old sofa. He had calmed down from that nightmare, yes, but... "I just hope _he_ will be fine, too..."

An encouraging hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he will be. Our Oskar is as strong as a bull."

A weak smile was all he got in return, and with another encouraging nod he left the dilapidated house to go to work.

And Maryse went back to changing the cold cloths on the patient's forehead, chest and neck. They seemed to have little effect, for her Karl was really burning up. But since there was nothing else she could do for him, she just kept exchanging the cloths. Just to do _something_ to help him – _anything_. For even reducing the fever by half a degree might just make the difference between...

Suddenly she lost all self-control and burst out in violent tears. In despair, she fell down on her knees beside the low sofa and cradled the sweaty, feverish head in her arms again. "Karl... Oh, Karl, _please_...! _Please_ don't die on me!"

Her hot tears mingled with the perspiration trickling down his redhot face. They soaked the cool cloth on his forehead as well. But she had to – somehow she _had_ to get it through to his unresponsive mind that she couldn't face that ordeal again. First Oskar – and now...?

Her mind screamed...

* * *

She remembered that day as if it were yesterday – the first time they met. She had been working as a cloakroom attendant at the theatre in Duisburg since the summer, and had been severely disappointed (to put it mildly) to learn that the theatre had engaged something as cheap as that notorious female impersonator Oskar Danzig for the holiday season. No doubt the shows would be sold out without exception – but what kind of morals did it show her employers to have?

She had discussed the matter at some length with her seasonal colleague Helga Lindner – there was little else for them to do during the hours of the show, when their sole responsibility lay in the guarding of inanimate coats and hats.

"What decent guy would ever even consider such a career?" she had poned.

Young Helga's reply had been unusually thoughtful. "Maybe it was out of despair. You know, with the depression and no job and all that. If he knew he was good at this sort of thing... For I bet he's making a lot of money."

"I'm sure he is. Those famous guys always do." She had sighed. "But really, I wouldn't want to see his show if I got money into the bargain. A guy dressing up as a woman – yuck!"

Helga had grimaced. "Well, I do suppose he is a bit... you know – odd. I can't see a _real_ man doing this kind of thing, no matter how desperate his situation."

To that, she had whole-heartedly agreed.

As cloakroom attendants however, they had absolutely nothing to do with the performers, so it was a bit of a surprise one day when during the break between the matinee and the early prime time show a strange creature exited the auditorium, and looked around as if searching for someone.

Helga peered at the figure. In every way that mattered it looked like a woman – only she didn't _move_ as a woman.

The woman who wasn't quite a woman now came in their direction, and when she came closer, Helga recognized the face from the posters – it was Oskar Danzig himself!

She cast a quick glance behind her, but Maryse was busy checking the cloakroom tickets in the back of the room.

And there was Danzig. In full fig, with make-up and clothes and wig and all – only the high heels were replaced by comfortable slippers. Yet he really did _not_ look like a woman.

"Fräulein, do you happen to know where I may find Herr Direktor Künneke?"

She smiled despite everything. "I haven't seen him tonight, but he might be in his office," she replied.

"Upstairs, right?"

"Yes. Second door to the left."

"Thank you." He turned and crossed the hall with long, very unfeminine strides.

"Was that the Danzig guy?" she heard Maryse ask behind her while the man in question took the stairs two steps at a time.

"Sure was." Helga chuckled. "And he doesn't look like a woman at all. If you ask me, that show is one big hoax."

They shared a grin, and went on with their work. Only to look up when swift footsteps on the stairs echoed through the hall again. Echoes that stopped so abruptly that the lady-guy causing them nearly came tumbling down the last few steps – he caught himself just in time.

Maryse watched him skeptically as he slowly made his way back to the auditorium. With him being so engrossed in looking their way that he walked right into the wall, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the two ladies.

"And that is supposed to be the superstar," Maryse commented wryly once he had disappeared.

Work went on as usual after that, and it took several days for the younger, more romantic minded Helga to discover a new pattern in their customers.

Most of the regular workers of the theatre left their coats and hats in their care as well. And since a few days, a person had been added to the little group that arrived well before the first show, and didn't pick up their coats until after all the public had left the building.

"I think it's _him_," she whispered under her breath as Maryse had given out one of the last coats to a dark, thirtyish young man with striking blue eyes.

"Who?"

"The guy who just came to collect his coat. I think it's Oskar Danzig himself!"

"So?" Maryse glanced in the direction her latest customer had walked off to. He was just pulling open the heavy door to the auditorium again. But looking in their direction, he raised his hand in a hesitant greeting, and Maryse gave him a cool nod in reply.

Helga hadn't missed the exchange of course, and a radiant smile lit up her features. "If you ask me, he's absolutely smitten with you!"

Maryse raised her eyebrows. "A guy like that? Don't be silly."

"But how else would you explain that he nearly fell down the stairs when he first set eyes on you? And then walked into the wall? He certainly wasn't that clumsy a few minutes before that, when he came to ask for Herr Direktor Künneke. And ever since that day, he suddenly began to leave his coat and hat here, and it's getting rather obvious that he's making sure that I'm busy and you're not when he comes to collect his stuff, so that _you_ are the one who will attend him!" she concluded in triumph.

"Don't be silly," Maryse repeated curtly. "And besides, even if he was interested in me, I assure you I'm not the least bit interested in _him_."

"It is a bit gross, yes," Helga admitted. "A _female_ impersonator? But I think he's rather cute as himself. And you don't have a boy-friend, do you?"

The pained expression that crossed her colleague's face caught Helga by surprise. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Maryse took a deep breath and forced her lips into a conciliatory smile. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" Helga hesitantly pressed on. "Do you mean you do have a boy-friend?"

"I did have one," Maryse told her, her voice strangely quiet. "We were engaged to be married. But he got killed in an accident at work, less than two weeks before the wedding."

Helga gasped. "That must have been awful!"

Maryse shrugged a little. "It's been nearly five years now. You learn to live with it. I just... haven't been able to get interested in other men yet." She grimaced. "And definitely not in a man who goes around parading as a woman every night."

Nothing more was said on the subject, but Helga made sure she kept an eye on the situation. The pattern indeed kept up, day after day, but perhaps she had been wrong in calling it to Maryse's attention. For as soon as Danzig approached the cloakroom, Maryse's professional friendly smile froze on her face, and she always dealt with the guy as quickly as possible, in an icy politeness that would not allow one word to pass her lips that was not strictly necessary.

Danzig in turn never said much either, though he regularly gave the impression that he'd very much like to. Clearly the poor guy was intimidated by Maryse's iceberg attitude, and instead he contented himself with letting his eyes follow and admire her every move.

Until one evening when Helga was holding the fort alone, when instead of just collecting his coat and hat and leave, he came to lean on the cloakroom counter and asked – _very_ casually, "Isn't your colleague here tonight?"

Helga smiled – men were so transparent. "No, it's her night off," she informed him.

"Ah." An awkward pause. "She um... she isn't spoken for, or...?" Nonchalance itself, albeit rather floundering. "I mean... a boy-friend or something. Or does she? Have one, I mean?"

It did seem a bit out of line to tell him about the dead fiancé, so... "Not that I know of."

"Ah. Good." He remained silent, but stayed where he was, letting his eyes roam over the near empty hall as if to search for inspiration.

"How was the show tonight?" Helga inquired at last.

"Fine," was the absent-minded reply.

She decided to put the cat among the pigeons. "For you _are_ Oskar Danzig, aren't you?"

That certainly got a reaction out of him. "How did _you_ know?"

She chuckled. "Rather obvious really. When a man dressed as a woman comes to ask for the director, and when he nearly falls down the stairs the moment he lays eyes on my colleague, followed by walking into the wall because he's looking at _her_ instead of where he's going... When from that day on, an unknown guy who is not a regular worker here begins to leave his coat and hat in the cloakroom, making sure it's always my colleague's turn to attend him... And even though they barely exchange a word, he just can't keep his eyes off her... Yeah, I'd say it's fairly obvious that you must be the same guy as the one who walked into the wall and nearly fell down the stairs."

A sheepish grin crossed the guy's face. "You're right – if you put it like that, I suppose it is fairly obvious." A sigh. "It's just..." A shake of the head. "There's just _something_ about her, you know – something really special. And apart from that, she's absolutely gorgeous..."

Helga smiled. This only confirmed that the guy was absolutely potty about Maryse. For although her colleague certainly wasn't ugly, she would never have imagined anyone using the word 'gorgeous' to describe her appearance. Oh well, one can't argue about taste...

But Danzig claimed her attention again. "Does she know, too? Who I am, I mean?"

"Of course she does."

Another sigh. "That might explain why she is acting to rebuffing towards me." He looked up. "Has she said anything to that effect perhaps?"

Helga nodded. "And I'm afraid it wasn't very flattering."

Danzig scowled and looked away.

"But you've been doing this work for years," Helga pointed out. "Surely she's not the first lady to be put off because you dress up as a woman every night."

"That's true, but usually it doesn't bother me. I have my own reasons for doing this." He raked his fingers through his dark hair with a sigh. "Things just get a little complicated when the woman of your dreams judges you by your not so respectable job as well."

Helga had a knowing smile. "How do you know she's the woman of your dreams? You barely know her."

"She doesn't know _me_ either, and yet she's adamant that she doesn't like me." There was something accusatory in his tone.

Suddenly, Helga had an idea. "Then why don't you try and change her mind?"

He gave her a flabbergasted look. "How? She won't even talk to me, and whenever I try to say something, I get completely tongue-tied under that icy glare of hers."

"So write to her instead." Helga's face lit up at a sudden inspiration. "You could start courting her – the old-fashioned way! You know, leaving her little presents and notes and flowers and stuff. Maybe walking her home later on. That sort of thing. Girls usually love that."

Danzig perked up a bit. "That's an idea. Anything special you know that she likes?"

Helga thought for a moment, but truth was she hadn't known Maryse all that long and she couldn't really come up with anything.

"Alright, I'll think of something. Only..." He hesitated. "Do you think it would be okay if you told me her name?"

Helga saw no problem in that. "Her name is Gotthardt. Maryse Gotthardt."

"Maryse?" Danzig raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar name. "M-A-R-I-..."

"M-A-R-_Y_-S-E," Helga corrected him. "And I'm Helga, just in case you'd like to know."

An embarrassed grin was her reply. "Sorry. I'm not exactly courteous to _you_ tonight, am I?"

And Helga chuckled in return. "Don't worry, I understand. Now you just go courting that colleague of mine, because believe it or not, no matter how cold she's been treating you so far, she really is a very nice girl. So go for it!"

* * *

.

_Author's note: FYI, Maryse indeed is not a German name – it's an old-fashioned and not very common Dutch name. One of those instances where the character named herself, and there was nothing I could do about it._ :-)

_Oh well, at least Dutch and German are linguistic neighbours, and Duisburg (just north of Düsseldorf) is close to the Dutch border, too. _


	20. Truce

The following day, the courting started officially. Unnoticed by everyone, someone had left a tiny little boucquet of flowers on the cloakroom counter. They were tied together with a red ribbon and carried a small card. '_To Fräulein Gotthardt, the most beautiful girl in all of Germany._'

"Sweet," Helga commented, faking ignorance. "Looks like you've got an admirer."

Maryse sighed. "That Danzig guy no doubt. He's just changing tactics."

Well, one could hardly expect instant success, so Helga watched with interest how her colleague reacted to a small bag of candy the next day, followed by a keyring with an M, a sweet postcard with a ladybug, a fluffy little teddy-bear the size of her little finger, a piece of vanilla fudge in the shape of a heart, more flowers, this time with a little note describing in some detail why he thought her so lovely...

Maryse's reactions varied from being plain irritated to being involuntarily pleased, and Helga was eagerly looking forward to her own night off. Surely Herr Danzig wouldn't pass up the chance to talk to his sweetheart in private!

And in spite of the occasional irritation she expressed, the little attentions at least seemed to have mollified Maryse a little towards her admirer. Now if only she'd let go of that frostiness of hers whenever she set eyes on him...

Danzig seemed indeed to have been thinking along the same lines, for he was rather early to come and collect his coat and hat that night. And once that had been attended to, he attempted to further the conversation with the same line he had used on Helga the week before. "Isn't your colleague here tonight?"

He got literally the same answer, too. "No, it's her night off." Though without the smile Helga had granted him at the time.

"Ah." He looked down at his hands, fumbling with his hat. "Did you..." A breath for courage before rushing out, "Did you get your present today?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you. I love chocolate."

He looked up with the beginning of a smile at those hope ingiving words – only to freeze to the spot as he became aware of the stern expression on the face of his dreamgirl.

Maryse leaned over the counter a little, to keep their conversation as private as possible. "Look, Herr Danzig, we both know what you're getting at with those presents and stuff. And I'm flattered that you like me so much, but it's not going to work. I'm just not interested. So you better quit this courting nonsense before it gets embarrassing." There, that came out pretty well. She'd been rehearsing that little speech all night...

Meanwhile, Danzig's face displayed both hurt and indignation. "Not interested – my foot! You've never even given me a chance – you're merely judging by appearances! How can you insist you're not interested when you know absolutely nothing about me?"

"I know that you like to dress up as a woman."

An exasperated sigh. "I don't _'like'_ to dress up as a woman. It's merely my job."

"Some job," Maryse sneered. "What kind of guy would pursue a career like that?"

All shyness forgotten, he leaned in over the counter, making her instinctively back away a little. "The kind of guy who uses the talent God has given him to raise money to help innocent people who got into trouble through no fault of their own," he hissed at her in anger.

"Oh, right." Maryse raised a mocking eyebrow. "Is that a new eufemism for saying you've got a few illegitimate children to provide for?"

The moment the words had left her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Danzig all but bounced back – he was absolutely livid.

But before she could open her mouth to apologize, he snapped with barely controlled fury, "_You_ got yourself some company walking home tonight, Fräulein." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving his coat and hat on the counter as a threatening promise that he'd be back.

Maryse hid her face in her hands for a moment. What on earth had possessed her to say such an awful thing?

She knew she had some talent for biting sarcasm – it had gotten her into enough trouble over the years. But this had been plain insulting. You don't go around accusing people at random, and especially not about such sensitive stuff as illegitimate children – how low was that? And totally unfounded as well!

She sighed. And now she could look forward to a good scolding – or worse: an angry wordfight – of a good twenty minutes duration. But perhaps if she apologized right away, perhaps it would take the worst of the wind out of his sails. He might even reconsider the walking home with her that way.

It turned out she had some time for remorse, for Herr Danzig didn't show his face again until the caretaker came around to lock up the place. He took his coat and hat without a word, waited till she got hers, and they left the building together in an icy silence.

Before the key had turned in the lock behind them, Maryse jumped at her task. "I'm sorry, Herr Danzig. I'm really sorry for what I said back there. It was totally uncalled for, and nothing you ever said or did to me would justify my saying such awful things. It just slipped from my mouth without thinking. I'm really sorry."

He eyed her quizzically. "Why do you hate me so much that you automatically assume the worst of me?" he asked, his previous anger totally gone.

Maryse looked away. 'Hate' wasn't quite the word for it, but... "You know why."

"Because I dress up as a woman for work."

"Yes."

He sighed. "Believe me, Fräulein, I'm well aware that it's not the most respectable trade in the world. But as I said, I have my reasons to stick with it, even though I don't exactly enjoy the work." He looked around. "By the way, which way do we go? I have no idea where you live, so you're going to have to lead the way."

Maryse nodded to the right, and they set off together in silence.

"So why _do_ you do it?" she asked as they had walked on for several minutes without exchanging a single word.

He glanced at her. "Do you recall the Kristallnacht?"

She shuddered involuntarily. "More than I _care_ to recall."

Her reaction was sufficient for Danzig to know that she was no staunch defender of the Nazi ideologies. "I've been living in Berlin these past years," he told her quietly. "And on a smaller scale, things like that had been going on there for years. Some of my best friends there were Jews..." He paused to gauge her reaction, but he got none. "...And no matter what the propaganda ministry says, they're perfectly normal, friendly people."

"I know." Maryse sighed. "So were our next door neighbours. But that night... I don't know. They were taken away, I think. We haven't seen them since. And the place was completely trashed."

Danzig nodded in understanding. "That's what's been happening in Berlin, too. And I couldn't just stand by and watch. So I started helping Jews and others to get out of the country. But the only way to raise the money to do that is for me to stay on as the famous Oskar Danzig. Theatres are outbidding themselves to engage him, and in doing so, they provide me with the means to help innocent people to get to safety. And that's the only reason Oskar Danzig hasn't been buried in oblivion yet. No matter how much I'd prefer to do just that, because for myself, I'd much rather work as an ordinary actor."

She looked up at him. "Now I feel even more awful about what I said. Can you ever forgive me?"

He smiled a little. "Don't you worry – I've already forgiven you. There was no way you could be aware of the truth, so..." He sighed. "Your words just hit a bit too close to home at this particular moment. I'm helping a friend of mine in my hometown at the moment. She married a Jew, but the Gestapo came after him, so he had to go into hiding. We completely lost track of him – he might well be dead. But shortly after he left, my friend realized that she was with child. _His_ child of course. But since I'd been around her place a lot to help her after he left, the town is convinced that it's _my_ child she's carrying."

Maryse couldn't help a chuckle. "Uh-oh..."

"Uh-oh indeed." He sighed. "The baby is due any day now, and I suspect they'll need some financial support, too, for a while." Another sigh. "It simply means that I can't quit as Oskar Danzig just yet. Too many people are dependent on the money he brings in."

"I understand." She wondered how many people he was talking about, but it wouldn't do to ask.

They walked on again in silence, until Danzig suddenly pleaded, "I do hope you will keep all this to yourself though. May I... Can I rely on your discretion not to mention any of this to _anyone_? Not even to your parents, or your best friends?"

She nodded. "Not a word. I promise."

A grateful glance in her direction. "Thank you."

"There is one more thing I'm curious about though."

"Yes?"

"I understand why you kept Danzig going, and why he still can't quit performing. But how did he come about in the first place? How did you become famous as a female impersonator?"

Danzig chuckled with embarrassment. "Well, to go back to the _very_ beginning: I was cajoled into it by my friend in order to raise the money for us to go to an important football match." He paused for the hilarity that statement always caused, and then continued to relate briefly how a talent scout had picked him up, how he'd been performing in a hotel in the city during the holidays, and how he had hoped to bury Oskar Danzig in oblivion once he was called into service, but was forced to revive him in order to pay for his mother's stay at the sanatorium. "And after she died, it simply expanded into helping others with the money I made."

She nodded. "I understand. But what did your parents say?"

Danzig shrugged. "I've never known my father – he was killed in the war before I was even born. And my mother... I made her believe I was working in a fancy hotel. I never told her the truth. And no, I'm pretty sure she would not have approved. The rest of the family – my sisters – don't know any better either. It's one of the reasons why I try to keep Oskar Danzig and my true identity completely separate. They'd be mortified if they'd ever find out."

She snickered. "I can imagine."

He looked at her. "So – do you still hate me? Or...?"

She looked up. "No. I don't hate you. In fact, I believe I even admire you for sacrificing your own wishes in order to help others."

He grinned. "That sounds a lot better."

"Still," she felt obliged to point out. "That doesn't mean I'm head over heels in love with you. But at least I wouldn't object to getting to know you better now."

"And that's all I ask for now." His eyes glittered in the light of a nearby lantern. "I can accept it if you don't like me once you've taken the trouble to get to know me. But just dismissing me out of hand because of my job – no." He chuckled. "I just couldn't accept that when I like you so much myself."

Maryse sighed. "It wasn't just that, you know."

"What then?" He stopped walking to search her face. She seemed rather pale, but maybe it was just the light.

Maryse kept her eyes carefully averted as she took a deep breath for courage – and another. And another. "It's your name. Oskar," she confessed at last.

"What about it?" he asked gently.

And finally, she looked up into his concerned eyes. "You've been very straight with me tonight, Herr Danzig, so I feel I owe it to you to be straight with you in return. I..." She faltered, but started again. "A few years ago, I was engaged to be married. But less than two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé was killed in an accident during the construction of the Autobahn between Düsseldorf and Köln. His name..." A difficult gulp. "His name was Oskar."

Silence.

"I understand," Danzig spoke at last. "Or I think I do. You resent me for using his name."

She shook her head. "Not just you – anyone. I know it's silly. It's quite a common name after all, but..."

"It's not silly. It's quite logical, I think." He paused for a moment. "Tell you what – I think it can be remedied quite easily in this case. After all, Oskar Danzig is only a stagename. So why don't you think of me as Karl instead?"

"Karl?" She sounded puzzled.

"Yes, Karl. It's my real name. And you're only the third person on this planet to learn that Oskar Danzig's real name is Karl."

She stared at him in surprise. "Then who are the other two? You said your mother didn't know, and..."

He smiled. "One is my best friend from childhood – the one who got me into this mess. The other is my bank manager. Both have been sworn to secrecy, so I'm going to ask you, too, to promise _never_ to use that name in public, okay? There you'd better stick with Herr Danzig if you want to avoid calling me Oskar. But under the circumstances, I wouldn't mind being Karl for you in private."

She blinked away a tear, moved as she was at the lengths he would go to to spare her pain. "Thank you... Karl."

A warm smile. "You're welcome."

"And you may as well call me Maryse."

He nodded. "Thank you... Maryse." He took her hand for a moment and squeezed it gently as in reassurance. "And now that we understand each other, how much further to where you live? I must say I don't like the thought of you having to walk this far through the city every night after midnight. And on your own?"

She found a chuckle. "Actually, we made a bit of a detour tonight. It's really only twenty minutes. And Helga – my colleague – lives in this direction, too, so we usually walk together."

And Danzig smirked. "May I conclude then that you actually rather enjoyed our talk?"

A smiled, "Perhaps" was his only answer.

* * *

But when she lay in bed later on – wide awake because there was simply too much for her to digest for sleep to come – she suddenly realized how vulnerable Danzig – _Karl_ – had left himself to her. If she were to go to the Gestapo with what he had told her about helping Jews, he'd probably be picked up in a flash and never heard from again. In a way, he had placed his life in her hands.

Was that plain stupidity, or...? But he didn't exactly come across as stupid. Besides, he'd have to be pretty smart to keep his Danzig persona and his true identity so entirely separate for so many years.

And that's when it hit her – the realization that apparently to him, his incognito was worth _more_ than his life. _That_ is how much he disliked his work as a female impersonator. He had readily entrusted her with his 'criminal' attempts to help Jews, even though one word from her could cost him his life. But he had realized that – in order to get her to allow him to court her – it was necessary to tell her the true reason for his despicable line of work.

But if it hadn't been for her telling him about her distress over his using the name Oskar, she was sure he would _never_ have revealed his real name to her – at least not yet. And then still only his first name. Which was a rather common one, so it didn't really give her anything to go on to figure out his true identity.

She lay down again in amazement. And – strangely enough – with a faint sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the knowledge that not only did this man entrust her with his life in order to win her heart – he had even begun to share his most precious secret with her.

Could it really be possible that he loved her _that_ much?


	21. Courtship

_Author's Note: Seeing how unanimous your reviews are in considering Karl to be excessively reckless (or stupid?) in telling such incriminating things about himself to a girl he barely knows and who despised him mere minutes ago, I realized that his reasons – though clear for me – do not come through in the story, because this particular part was told from Maryse's point of view! I'll try and remedy it by adding a part in Karl's voice in this chapter. Let me know if you think his decision to tell her – dangerous though it still was – made sense after all! _

_And my apologies for this chapter being so long. This entire love-story was actually written all in one go back in November (right after I finished _The Key to Berchtesgaden_), and in this part, I found it sheer impossible to find a logical spot to cut the text in half... _

.

* * *

Despite careful fishing, Helga never really learned what had transpired between her colleague and the famous female impersonator on her night off. But whatever it was, the outcome certainly had been positive.

The courting now continued openly, and whenever Oskar Danzig showed his face around the cloakroom, Maryse was sure to greet him with her warmest smile. He now was usually one of the first of the theatre personnel to come and collect his coat and hat after the last show, and invariably he stayed chatting at their counter till their work was finished, too.

He then walked both the ladies home, first past Helga's place, and then – with a detour whenever the December weather permitted – to Maryse's place.

Apart from that – and without Helga's knowledge – they regularly had a late lunch together before reporting to work, and all in all, Karl and Maryse got to know one another pretty well.

To her own surprise, Maryse found that she actually revelled in the situation. At the age of twenty-seven, and after having lost Oskar, unconsciously she had already begun to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood. Her pain had simply been too raw to make her attractive to any other man – as if she had even _wanted_ to replace her dearest Oskar.

Yet here was a guy who thought the world of her – who openly admired and attended her, and who had placed his very life right in her hands _just_ to get her to allow him to court her.

And although she didn't exactly feel the passionate love for him that she had shared with Oskar, she found she very much enjoyed his company and his attentions. She felt comfortable and at ease around him, and the mere fact that she could still inspire such love and devotion and admiration in a man worked as balm on her wounds. In fact, she sometimes reflected that – given time – she might very well _learn_ to love her present admirer as much as she had once loved Oskar.

And despite his disgusting line of work – of which at least she knew it served a worthy cause, and that his heart wasn't really in it – the prospect of perhaps one day pursuing a more intimate relationship with this guy whom she at least regarded as a really good friend, and who loved her to pieces in return, was certainly worth entertaining as an alternative to spending the rest of her life as a spinster.

It was her own decision however to keep this budding maybe-romance a secret from her family. At least for now. For it would certainly arouse suspicion if she could only tell them her lover's first name. And the news that their daughter was dating (more or less) a guy who worked as a female impersonator was likely to be received with even less enthusiasm.

Fortunately, she had been working long enough in this job for her mother to have given up waiting for her daughter to come home well past midnight nine nights out of ten, so nobody really noticed that she regularly came home later than usual nowadays. And for the rest, she resorted to the subtle subterfuge of telling half-truths, and then only when being asked. It wasn't that she enjoyed deceiving her parents, but keeping them in the dark seemed the most profitable course of action for all parties concerned – at least in this early stage.

So when Karl asked her out for the first night after Danzig's show ended, she simply told her family that she was going out with a few of her colleagues – thus avoiding the etiquette of Karl having to come and pick her up with all the complications that would entail.

She looked forward to the evening with both anticipation and trepidation. For after tonight, with Danzig's show moving on to other theatres in other cities, their encounters were bound to become scarce. And she already knew she would miss her new-found friend terribly.

And then there was Karl's promise that tonight she'd finally get to see the 'real' him. "The personality you've gotten acquainted with these past weeks – that _is_ me," he had assured her. "But as Oskar Danzig, I'm _always_ in disguise. This isn't really what I look like."

To prepare her for the change, he had begun to alter his appearance a little every day. And it had been most unsettling how a tiny little change in his features gave him a totally different look.

"Almost like a chameleon," Helga had breathed when they both had failed to recognize him because of a mere change of the shape of his eyebrows.

Which meant she was rather apprehensive of their meeting tonight. Would she even recognize him? And what if his new, his real face didn't match the Karl she had grown so fond of?

And last but not least, there was her evening gown. She hadn't given it much thought at first, but now that she had taken it out from the back of her closet, memories of the times she had last worn it were flooding her mind.

_Oskar_... Putting on that gown that she had only ever worn to go out with _him_... in order to go out with another man... It felt like closing a chapter she wasn't sure she was ready to close yet.

But life goes on, as people said, and here was a new man vying for her attentions. It would have been easier if she'd had another gown to go with it. But as it was, she only had this one, and there was no one in the house she could borrow one from.

Tears pricked behind her eyes while she got ready for her first date in five years. She didn't _want _to cry – Karl deserved better on this one special evening together than a girl with her head in the past. But alone in her bedroom with the memories connected to these clothes, it sure wasn't easy...

Her father's admiring smile when she came down the stairs however warmed her heart. "You look lovely," were his words as he took in his daughter's fancy appearance.

She gave him a somewhat teary smile, and got an encouraging nod in return. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. You have a good time now, okay?"

He understood how difficult this was for her – so much was obvious. But she was grateful he didn't actually mention it. "Thank you, Dad. I will. And I believe there is my taxi."

The taxi brought her all the way to Duisburg's twin city Essen, and stopped in front of a classy restaurant next to the Grand Theatre. Karl had given her the money for the fare, since it was mainly for his sake (less chance of recognition) that they were spending the evening outside Duisburg.

So she paid the driver, and was pleasantly surprised when a helpful hand assisted her to get out of the car. A doorman of the restaurant, she presumed – until she looked up to thank the man. The guy was in evening dress, and his baby-blue eyes truly feasted upon her appearance. Could it be that...?

"You look absolutely stunning..." he breathed.

She peered at the unfamiliar face in astonishment. "Karl...?"

A slight nod and half a smile. "Yes. This is me." His eyes still hadn't let go of her.

Hesitantly, Maryse searched his face, trying to find something familiar in what apparently had to be the real version of her friend. But apart from the colour of his eyes, there was nothing to remind her of the Karl-Oskar Danzig who had been courting her this past month.

First of all he looked at least ten years younger – more like the twenty-four years she knew he counted than the thirtyish look Danzig had sported.

The second major change was his overall appearance. She had known Danzig with a somewhat southern look: dark, sleek hair and with a slightly bronzed complexion, with which the blue eyes made such a beautifully striking contrast.

Today instead, he stood before her with thick, goldenbrown hair and a much more northern, fair complexion that – once you'd seen it – seemed to suit his eyes better.

Add to that the minute changes in the shape of his nose, his eyes, mouth, cheeks, eyebrows, chin, jaw, even his ears, and it was like going out with a perfect stranger.

He left her the time to take in his features, until at last she said quietly, "I can barely believe it's you..."

An awkward grin. "Well, it's me alright."

"Without _any_ make-up or anything?"

"Nothing. Just plain old me." He shivered in a cold gust of wind. "But perhaps we should go inside? We've got two hours to gaze at each other over dinner before the show begins." He offered her his arm and chuckled, "And believe me, I'm going to do as much gazing as you tonight. You look absolutely breathtaking!"

And so they gazed at each other while they chatted over dinner, and by the time they finished dessert and got ready to go to the Grand Theatre next door, Maryse had more or less managed to coalesce the stranger's looks with the Karl she knew.

Karl had tickets for the operetta version of _Cinderella_, and if you've never seen traditional German operetta, then words cannot convey the feast it provides for both eye and ear. Its colours, its dancing, singing and laughter make you forget your troubles for a while, and it's practically impossible to leave the theatre afterwards without feeling thoroughly happy.

Karl and Maryse enjoyed the show each for their own reasons – Maryse because she hadn't seen a theatre show in years, and Karl because he loved watching other actors at work. He even went so far as to explain to her in some detail the techniques used by some of the characters when they were having a drink in a nearby café-dansant afterwards.

"Karl, please!" Maryse moaned at last. "I just loved the entirety of it; I don't need to have it dissected!"

Karl chuckled. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."

She snickered at that.

"But I would love to play the wicked stepmother one day," he mused. "A character so bad that it's funny – that's always a rewarding role."

"I'd rather see you play Prince Charming," she countered.

"Not half as much fun," was his opinion.

"But why don't you?"

"What – play Prince Charming?" A grin. "Only if you will play Cinderella!"

"Ha ha. I mean playing in operettas in general. The ugly stepsisters were men – surely you could use your talents there."

He shook his head. "The acting and dancing wouldn't be a problem, but it takes a better voice than mine to do operetta. By the way, speaking of dancing..." He already pushed back his chair. "Would you care to dance?"

* * *

It was about 3 a.m. when a grumpy taxi driver delivered them both at Maryse's home.

"Aren't you going back to town?" she wondered as she saw him pay the driver.

He didn't answer her until the taxi had driven off and they were all alone in the dark and quiet street. "I'll walk. I just wanted to say goodbye to you without extra eyes." He took both her hands in his. "You _will_ write to me, won't you?"

"Prince Charming, Poste Restante, Hamelburg GPO," she promised. "And from next week onwards to Koblenz GPO instead."

A sad smile. "My Cinderella..."

Tired and a little careless as she felt by now, she was just contemplating if it would be a real breach of propriety to snuggle up to him for a moment when he suddenly bent over to her and lightly kissed her on the cheek. "Good night, Maryse. And thank you for a wonderful evening."

She blushed like a schoolgirl. "Thank _you_ instead," she insisted.

But he already spun her around and directed her up the garden path. "Now get inside with you. I'm sure such lingering goodbyes are great on a summer evening, but in January they'll just cause pneumonia."

She chuckled. "Then you better get going, too." Once more she turned back before entering the house. "Thank you, Karl. For... for everything." And with that, she quickly disappeared inside – because she suddenly felt the tears streaming down her face.

Quietly, suppressing her sobs as best as she could, she went into the living-room and closed the door behind her. The warmth from the stove still lingered in the room, and she huddled in front of it with a plaid to profit optimally from the glowing coal. Things just seemed so cold and bleak all of a sudden...

The door cracked open, and there was her mother. "I heard the door. My, you guys made it late... Did you have a good time?"

Maryse merely nodded, and her mother noticed the tears. And she sat down next to her daughter and took her crying child in her arms. "It's okay to cry, honey," she hushed her. "Every first time is difficult."

Maryse frowned through her tears. What was she talking about?

"I'm sure Oskar would be very proud of you, you know that? I certainly am – the way you've picked up your life again, and now you're going out again and meeting new people..."

New people. Karl. She wasn't crying over Oskar at all – in fact, she had barely given Oskar another thought once she had been in Karl's company tonight.

No. What seemed unbearable to her now was the prospect of not seeing Karl for weeks – maybe even months.

So perhaps after all these years, perhaps she was finally beginning to move on...

* * *

The letter-writing started the following day, and took place on a practically daily basis in both directions.

Now that the busy holiday season was over, Helga's seasonal job had ended and Maryse had the cloakroom to herself again. For one or two shows a day, that was quite manageable. And instead of knitting her way through her long and lonely guarding hours, she now used them to write long letters to her friend. And of course to reread the latest one she'd received from him that day.

But there was one letter in particular she kept going back to – the one where he explained (at her request) what had possessed him to leave himself so completely at her mercy by telling her about his helping Jews, at a time when he barely knew her, and she certainly hadn't given him much reason to trust her so implicitly.

.

_After I ran off following that sneer about illegitimate children, _he wrote_, I realized that your prejudice against my job – and therefore against me – was far too strong for me to be able to change your mind the normal way: step by step, in regular encounters. We didn't have time for that, for the show would be moving on to other cities in only a few weeks time. And chances of my ever seeing you again after that were very slim. Besides, so violent as your prejudice was, I sincerely doubted you would grant me the light of day to even be in your company, and not even years would have been sufficient to get you to change your mind about me. So how was I ever to make you see who I really was, and in such short time, too?_

_The only way I could think of to accomplish that was to tell you the truth about my job. Dangerous, yes. Especially since – like you say – I barely knew you. But as crazy in love as I was with you (and still am!), I simply couldn't stand the thought that after D having messed up so much of my life already, he was now going to stand in the way of my finding the woman of my dreams, too! For here you were, dismissing me out of hand, and only because of that hateful D again! _

_I knew it was a gamble, and believe me: I was well aware that I was taking a grave risk with my own safety. I had no idea what your sentiments on that subject were, so I made sure to sound you a bit on it before revealing anything really incriminating on my part. You may recall that it wasn't until after you pretty much openly agreed with me about there being nothing wrong with our mutual friends that I told you what I did for them. _

_Yes, it was a gamble – and fortunately I won. But I knew for sure that – if I hadn't taken that gamble, I would have tortured myself for the rest of my life with the question, "What if...?" So for once I decided to fight for something I wanted for a change. If I could put my life in danger for other people's sake, then why not for the sake of my own happiness?_

_People might say that you could have been lying to me at that time. That you were deliberately drawing me out to give away my secrets, so you could pass them on to the bullies. _

_But in that, I felt secure. I may not have known you all that well at the time, but it would only take a half decent judge of character to realize that you are one of those wonderful people who are honest almost to a fault. It's one of the things I love most about you, you know that? Your reflex will always be to tell the truth. Everyone has the decision at any time to either tell the truth or tell a lie. But for people like you, that decision is made by default. It doesn't even enter your mind that you could tell a lie – you will always tell the truth, simply because that's how your mind works._

_Mind you, that doesn't mean you are incapable of lying and deceiving. Or keeping a secret. When you have some time to think things over, I'm sure you are very well capable of such things when it suits your purpose. (Like what you told me about your dealings with your family regarding me!) Still, your first, your instinctive reaction will always be honesty – simply because you are honest almost to a fault! And believe me: that is a character trait that's very easy to pick up – even in people you don't know all that well. _

_I'm not sure if I've ever even had that laudable trait myself. If I ever did have it, life must have bred it out of me thoroughly over the years. Necessity in my situation, yes, but still... Believe me when I say I love you all the more for it, and I promise you I will do my utmost never to lie to you either. _

_But to get back to your question: based on that trait of yours, I knew you wouldn't lie to me that evening. And if our opinions on the matter had turned out to be sadly incompatible, then of course I wouldn't have told you what I told you now. In that case, I probably would have resigned in remembering you as the most lovely and beautiful girl I had ever met, but sadly out of my reach. _

_But boy am I grateful that things turned out the way they did! That you agreed with me, and that you were willing to listen to my explanation and in the end you even went so far as to say you admired me for what I did! I don't think anything anyone has ever said to me has mattered more to me than your final approval that night. And your acceptance of me, despite my job. _

_So imagine if I had let D and my eternal overcaution rule me on the subject of my heart... It sure would have been the sensible thing to do, yes, but sometimes you have to take a risk to get what you really want. Even if it means risking your life. And when the reward is as lovely and worthy as you, believe me: I would risk it all over again, every day of my life. Just so you would allow me to be with you. _

.

Could there really be lovelier words to read?

She was also delighted to learn that Danzig's schedule outside the holiday season wasn't as packed as what she had experienced here in Duisburg, allowing him to occasionally go home to Hamelburg for a day or two, in which he invariably included a few hours in Duisburg.

"Can't do that when I'm playing in München next month, but Koblenz, and later on Dortmund are close enough," he told her over a bowl of steaming soup in a cosy café after they'd been ice-skating together one morning.

"Then we'll just enjoy the opportunity to meet while we can, and resort to writing even longer letters when we can't meet," Maryse decided.

"But tell you what." Karl grinned. "I'm in discussion with your Herr Direktor Künneke about coming back to Duisburg for the summer."

"Mm, I'd like that. It's rather boring to walk home by myself after work. You spoilt me through and through, you know that?"

He chuckled. "Then I'll walk you home again _every_ night. And you better make sure the competition knows it!"

An innocent smile. "You mean Peter and Friedrich and Marius and Simon and Christian and Achim and...?" She chuckled as he leaned over the table in a mock threatening pose.

"Don't you dare toying with me, young lady! It's bad enough that I can't see you anywhere _near _as much as I want to, without having to worry about you being swamped with other admirers."

And they both laughed – secure as they felt that the other was happy with their present status quo. Without heaps of other admirers to complicate things.

But was Karl really? Maryse sometimes wondered. Happy with their present status quo, that is?

His behaviour and his letters clearly showed that he was as much in love with her as ever. But after she'd told him about Oskar that first night, he had respectfully given her the time and the space she needed to get used to the idea of another man being in love with her. At least that's how she interpreted it.

But for how long would that be sufficient for him?

It was obvious – even though he had never really mentioned it – what he was aiming at in the long run. But was she capable of loving him like that?

She sure liked him very much. She loved being in his company, and missed him like crazy those long weeks when he was away. But love him the way she had loved Oskar? Spending the rest of her life at his side – did she really love him _that_ much?

Besides, no matter how much he had told her about himself in his letters, he _still_ hadn't entrusted her with his last name...

She was pondering the problem again one morning in May, perusing through her by now impressive collection of loveletters. Being home alone, she had laid them out on the dining table, rereading bits and pieces here and there, and trying to figure out her own feelings towards the author.

And so engrossed was she in her private musings, that she didn't notice her youngest brother coming in until he picked up one of her precious letters and read out loud, "'_My dearest Maryse!_'"

She jumped up and lunged for his hand holding the letter. "Evert! Give it back!"

But as brothers do, he held it out of her reach and read on. "'_I really loved your latest letter. Read it six times already! I'm glad you have..._'"

With a very unfeminine leap she recovered her letter, and quickly gathered up the others in their box before her brother could lay his hands on them.

But he already stooped down and picked up one that had fallen off the table in the consternation. "'_It's getting awfully late, so I'm off to bed now. I can't wait to go to the post office tomorrow and get your new letter! But for now, I'll just try to summon some happy dreams about you. Sleep tight, my dearest Cinderella. Love – your Karl._'" Evert snickered as she pulled it out of his hand. "_Cinderella_? You got a lover, sis?"

"Mind your own business." She closed her box with a decisive snap.

"And are all those letters from him? My, this Karl sure is a great writer!"

"Mind your own busines!" Maryse repeated sharply before retreating to the stairs to put away her treasure under lock and key in her room.

But she knew the cat was out of the bag, and it was no surprise when her mother carefully broached the subject the following day during the dishes. "Evert told me about those letters yesterday."

Maryse merely sighed, but made no reply.

"So who is this Karl?" her mother probed.

Another sigh. "A really sweet guy. But really, Mum, it's too early to seriously discuss him. We're not really... _dating_... if you know what I mean."

An ironic little smile. "He's just been sending you heaps of letters, has he?"

Suddenly the need to get a fresh pair of eyes to look at her problem overtook everything else. "I don't know _what_ to think of it, Mum. He's a really sweet guy, and I believe he is very much in love with me. And I do like him a lot, I really do. It's just – it's so different from how I felt at the time with Oskar, that I just don't know what to think of my own feelings..."

A long silence ensued in which several dishes passed through both their hands.

"Maryse," her mother spoke at last. "The only reason why it feels so different is because it _is _different. You're not the same innocent girl anymore that you were five, six years ago – before you had to deal with losing Oskar. And of course this Karl is different from Oskar as well – they're different people. So no wonder your feelings for him are different, too."

She let her daughter mull that over for a few minutes before asking, "Have you told him about Oskar?"

Maryse nodded. "Right away. I tried to scare him off with it, because I wasn't interested in him at all at first. But he kept at it and he sort of... well, _grew_ on me." She smiled. "He makes me feel so special, Mum... And so... beautiful... I had never imagined anyone could ever make me feel like that again."

Her mother had a knowing smile, for those words conveyed more of her daughter's feelings than that entire monologue she had held before. Besides, her poor bereaved girl deserved a man who made her feel real special. And the mere fact that this unknown Karl was able to do just that already pretty much prepossessed him in her favour.

"That's good," she said therefore. "He sounds like a worthy suitor, Marysia-mine. And if he truly loves you, he'll grant you all the time you need to straighten out your feelings."

Maryse put down her tea towel and hugged her mother. "I know." A sigh. "I know he loves me very much, and he's been ever so patient and understanding. It's just my own doubts and indecision that are driving me crazy."

Her mother patted her on the back. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Meanwhile, you may tell him from me that I'm really looking forward to meeting him."

Maryse chuckled. "That might be difficult – his job takes him all around the country. That's why we've been writing so much."

"So what does he do?"

A gulp. "He's with a theatre company."

"You met him at work then?"

"Yes." _Please, stop asking...!_

"And what's his name? Karl...?"

"Just Karl for now."

The look she got was exactly what she had always envisioned when determining once again not to tell her parents about Karl just yet. "Just – _Karl_?"

"Mum, _please_!" She closed her eyes for a moment. "I know you're going to tell Dad, and I know that he'll want to do a thorough check-up on him. I know he means well, but I don't _want_ him to. Not yet at least."

Her mother regarded her in worried puzzlement. "Why not, Maryse? Is there something...?"

"No! No, nothing is wrong. It's just that I really need to work this out on my own. I'm nearly twenty-eight years old, Mum – I'm not a child anymore. Try and have a little faith in my judgement, okay?"

Seeing how her mother's worry only increased at that, she elaborated with a touch of despair, "The point is, that Dad would probably already have heard of him through his work." That was the trouble with having a journalist for a father – he knew _everyone_, and could get to the bottom of anything that caught his interest, no matter in how many mysteries it was shrouded. And she didn't _want_ him to ferret out and expose Karl's true identity – not unless Karl told him himself that he was the man behind the despicable Oskar Danzig charade.

"But this is _my_ life, Mum. I'm going to have to make up my _own_ mind, don't you see? Without Dad's well-meant research into his background. But I promise – once I've figured it out, you and Dad will be the first to know."

A long silence as mother and daughter battled at stares. The mother was the first to give in. "I suppose you're right – you're not a child anymore. The problem is..." She sighed. "No matter how old you are, you will always be _my_ child." She hugged her daughter tight. "And all I want is for you to be happy."

Maryse closed her eyes. "I know."

Her mother forced a smile on her face. "Then let me wish you all the wisdom in the world to make the right decision regarding this Karl. And remember – if you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?"

She nodded.

But the only one with whom she wanted to talk things over now was Karl himself. And with the way things were rapidly growing over her head, she could even – for the very first time – imagine herself taking refuge in his arms. Even ensconcing herself against his chest, and feeling safe and cared for and loved in his embrace.

But Karl was in far away Leipzig...

* * *

The summer brought a welcome surprise. Not only would Oskar Danzig be performing first in nearby Düsseldorf (allowing them lots of opportunities to meet) and then in 'her' theatre in Duisburg, the show he was putting on was the popular farce _Charlie's Aunt_ – in which a guy dresses up as his friend's aunt to help him out of a pickle – and of course instead only gets him deeper into it. Which meant that Karl was going to play a parody on his own Danzig character, and unlike Danzig's regular shows, _that_ was something she would dearly like to see!

Of course it took only one word from superstar Oskar Danzig to get Herr Direktor Künneke to find a replacement cloakroom attendant for the opening night in Duisburg, and for the first time since she'd met him, Maryse got the chance of seeing her dear friend on stage. And she absolutely loved him in this comic role.

He smiled from ear to ear when she told him as much in his dressing room afterwards. "And all thanks to you, you know that? I wanted you to be able to come and see me without feeling grossed out. And comedy is what I've always really wanted to do. So with Charlie's Aunt, I thought I'd strike a compromise between what the audience expects of Oskar Danzig, and my own wishes for you and myself."

"And it's a marvellous solution," she assured him. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in this play a hundred times!"

Karl chuckled and began to remove his stage make-up. "I'm afraid not even Oskar Danzig could talk your Herr Direktor Künneke into that without you losing your job."

Maryse made no reply – intrigued as she was to see the face she knew to be Karl's 'real' one emerge from under the make-up. "Karl," she began at last. "Haven't you ever been tempted to make yourself look really handsome – _perfectly_ handsome, I mean – and then present that to the world as your natural look?"

He looked at her in the mirror and heaved a sigh. "Not really."

"Why not? You could have had all the girls in town chasing after you if you wanted. I would have thought that was every young man's dream."

He turned to face her, very gravely. "Maryse, if you have to go around in disguise all the time... believe me, your own face becomes very dear to you."

Silently, she studied his face – pretty much the 'real' face with which she still wasn't quite familiar. "Yes. I suppose you're right," she finally conceded. "I suppose it's different when you're forced to do it _all_ the time."

He smiled. "I can make _you_ look any way you like," he offered. "Though I really cannot imagine a prettier face than your own."

She snickered. "Maybe some other time." Not with what she wanted to tell him tonight...

She came to lean against his dressing table and watched him transform himself into the look she was the most familiar with: Oskar Danzig off-stage. To her surprise, it only took him a few minutes.

"It's like brushing your teeth," he explained as he got up. "At last you can do it on auto-pilot." He disappeared behind the screen to change back into his own clothes, and a few minutes later he turned off the lights and they made their way to the front hall.

"Did you bring a coat or anything?" Karl asked.

She smiled like a content cat. "Of course I did. I left it in the cloakroom."

"You just couldn't resist, could you." Karl chuckled.

So she picked up her coat, he helped her into it, and a moment later they wandered off through the summery city center together in companiable silence.

Without discussing it, they took the route to one of their favourite hunts this summer: the pedestrian railway bridge across the line to Wesel. Very few people ever used that bridge, so it was a perfect place for private conversations.

Maryse leaned on the balustrade, looking down at the dark railroad track below, and Karl followed her example.

"Karl," she began at last.

"Hm?" He looked up.

"If I tell you something I'm sure _you_ would love to hear – will you tell me your name then?"

"Langenscheidt."

"What?"

"My name. It's Karl Langenscheidt."

Totally taken aback at such a quick result to her request, Maryse just stared at him to the point that he felt obliged to explain that he was tired of playing hide and seek with her. "Besides, how can I ever expect you to learn to love me one day when I don't even show my trust in you?"

She had a quiet laugh of amazement. "Will you believe that _that_ was exactly what I was going to tell _you_?"

It was his turn to look puzzled. "What?"

"That I love you." There, that came out easier than she had expected.

The reaction was not quite as coherent though. "You _what_? I mean... you do?"

"Yes," she simply said.

He could scarce believe it. "You mean you really do love me?"

"Yes."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly!"

The next thing she knew she was being twirled around in his arms. But even when he put her down again, he held his tight grip on her – almost as if he were afraid she was going to escape.

"You're really serious?"

"Yes! How often do I have to tell you?" She laughed – laughed with a carefree happiness she thought she had lost long ago.

And he shook his head in amazement. "Every twenty seconds, I guess." A happy sigh. "Oh boy..."

She smiled, her eyes beaming at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." And he drew her into that embrace she had been longing for ever since that revealing talk with her mother – the embrace that made her feel so loved and happy and secure and cared for... The embrace in which she finally came home. To Karl _Langenscheidt_. Because she had finally come to realize that no matter what, his love was all she really wanted.

And as their lips found each other for the very first time – hesitant but oh so eager – she just _knew_ that all would be well. At Karl's side, she could finally have a second chance at life.

And there was not a doubt in her heart that they would be the happiest couple on God's earth.

.

The happiest couple or not, the 'no matter what' had turned out to be an awful lot.

The very next day, her father was sent to Berlin as correspondent, and both her brothers were called under arms. Karl somehow miraculously (through his own doing) escaped that fate for now, but when less than a fortnight later Poland was invaded, it became all too clear that their courtship would not be as carefree as young lovers tend to hope for.

Especially not when Maryse learned that her Karl was actively involved in a perilous sabotage and resistance movement in the Hamelburg area...

* * *

Gently, she stroked the matted goldenbrown hair off his forehead and brushed away her own tears.

Yes – no doubt that Hitler had to be stopped. The question was, at what cost? And why did _he_ have to be the one to put his life on the line all the time? Hadn't she lost enough loved ones to this insanity already? Her father, both her brothers, and in a way even her first fiancé...?

She recalled every emotional wordfight they had had on the subject over the years. And there had been many – especially in the beginning. Even to the point that she had told him (well, yelled at him) that she couldn't stand living in fear for his life all the time, and if he intended to continue like this, he would never see her again.

That particular fight had indeed ended in their breaking up. But if knowing just a little had been terribly hard on her, knowing nothing at all about Karl's escapades turned out to be plain torture. _Knowing_ that he went out there, risking to get shot or captured – or worse... and she might never find out?

It had been a relief for both of them when she had finally gone back to him. Already, the ties that bound them had been too strong to be so easily severed, and Karl had been ready to promise her _anything_, if only she'd come back to him.

Nonetheless, it had taken an awful lot of convincing to talk him into letting her be a part of their activities, 'to keep an eye on him'. But seeing that his objections to _her_ participating were a perfect match for her objections to his own involvement, he really had had no choice but to give in – no matter how reluctantly.

Joining the small group that met under the disguise of an amateur drama club (with the shameful average of staging less than one play a year...), she had gained a whole new insight to his character. To these people, he was an inspiring leader, an unorthodox but thorough strategist, and a superb drama coach training them in character play, pokerfaces and improvisation. He was their friend as well as their hero, and it didn't take her particularly long to realize that he held himself personally responsible for their lives and their well-being.

Like that time the night before Udo was to join the army.


	22. Heroism

_Author's note: Becoming wise through experience, let me give you a little refresher regarding Udo – one of the main protagonists of this chapter. _

_Udo Steinmetz was introduced a few chapters ago as Karl's vacation friend in Hamelburg, who joined his little resistance group here without realizing that Oskar Danzig was the same as his childhood friend Karl Langenscheidt (whom he hadn't seen for something like fifteen years). _

_Udo played a major part in _The Key to Berchtesgaden_, as the leader of the group who took "Hitler" to the submarine. He also acted as aide to the evil Major Ludwig Becker (e.g. Danzig) in _Robin Hood's Christmas Party_._

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_Oh, and of course **thanks everyone** who has been reviewing so far! It's always a little special to reach the 100... Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to reply to most of last chapter's reviews (some of which are begging for a reply!), but I'll try to get to that later today.  
_

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* * *

Having been an exceptional student throughout his youth, Udo had been granted deferment of his military training in favour of his studies in chemistry and engineering. With no inclination for the military at all – and even less so under Nazi rule – he had just extended and extended his studies, and up till now he had never seen a military barracks up close.

Without the slightest military training, he had felt secure that he wouldn't be called into service to be sent to the front. What use would they have there for a scholar who didn't even know how to handle a gun?

But it turned out he had been basking himself in false security, for in the fall of 1940, he got his call-up to report to an infanterie regiment in Köln in two days' time.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Oskar reproached himself when Udo showed him the papers. "Oh man... Udo, I'm really sorry. I didn't realize... I've been stupid."

Udo shrugged. "Why? There is nothing _you_ could have done about it, is there?"

Oskar rubbed his face. "I might have been able to help you stay out of the army indefinitely. Or at least away from the front."

That certainly peaked Udo's curiosity. "How?"

Karl sighed and looked the orders over. It had been a while since he had received his last one, but they were bound to get back onto him as well. The others of the group were fortunately either too old or (still) too young to run the risk of being sent to the front, but Udo... _Why_ didn't he think of that?

"How do _you_ manage to stay out then?" Udo cut into his thoughts. "You've had military training, haven't you? So they're bound to want you even more than they want me."

"By faking severe medical problems," his friend replied, deliberately ignoring the second question. "According to my medical file, I suffer from frequent and severe asthma attacks. Plus a few other minor things. I even got a real doctor to sign the certificate. So far it's kept them at bay."

"And you could have gotten something like that for me, too?"

Oskar nodded. "Asthma is fairly simple to simulate. Scary, but simple. And they really have no use for a soldier who has to focus on his breathing to the exclusion of everything else. And that's bound to happen when an asthmatic has to be out in the field in all weathers, day in, day out."

Udo's face lit up in hope. "Can't you teach me how? Then maybe when I start showing the symptoms out there in the field, they'll send me straight back home!"

"It wouldn't hurt to try," Oskar agreed, and they spent the rest of the evening pretending they couldn't breathe.

"So what about tomorrow?" Oskar asked as they were about to part, exhausted from their pretended struggle for breath. "Are you still coming with me? I can understand if you'd rather stay home that last night. I can ask one of the others – that shouldn't be a problem."

But Udo shook his head. "No. I'm coming with you. One last honourable deed before I have to sell my soul to that devil in Berlin."

A grin from his friend. "Good. I'll pick you up around eleven."

* * *

Everything had gone textbook perfect. They had hidden the car in the woods, far enough from the fence that a starting motor would not draw attention in the quiet of night.

They had approached the estate from the side, climbed over the eight foot fence without being noticed and sneaked through the landscaped garden up to the lordly manor-house.

Behind the third window from the left on the ground floor lay their booty: a large supply of blank ID cards – a treasure for those helping victims of a cruel system to get away.

The ground floor windows were at the height of their shoulders, but with Udo using himself as a stepping stone, Oskar had no trouble reaching the window's lock, and a moment later he pulled himself up and inside. He gave Udo a hand pulling himself up on the window-sill, and pulling the window shut behind them, they surveyed the room.

Lots of cabinets and drawers. The blank ID cards had to be somewhere in this room – but where?

Without a word, they each started on one side of the room, looking through every drawer in every cabinet. It was Udo who found what they were looking for. Quickly, they filled the silk black bags they had brought and helped one another to tape them around their belly and lower back.

The remains were put back where they came from, all drawers closed, and after a final look around, Oskar pushed open the window, climbed up on the window-sill and jumped down, followed close on his heels by...

A raw cry of pain echoed through the night, freezing him to the spot. The loud gasping sobs following made him immediately turn back.

"What'd you do?" he hissed as he knelt down by his friend.

Udo opened his mouth to (probably) answer, but all that came out was an irrepressible howl of pain that Oskar quickly stifled.

"Keep it down! I know you're in pain, but it wouldn't exactly improve things if they find us here."

In reply, Udo grabbed his arm and dug in deep in an attempt to deal with the excruciating pain in his leg.

"Good. That's better than screaming. Come on, I'll help you up. You think you can stand?"

Udo shook his head, and out of nowhere he suddenly emptied his stomach the wrong way up.

"Oh boy..." Karl took hold of his friend's shoulder to steady him, his mind feverishly trying to assess their options. He was no doctor, but judging by Udo's reaction, this was more serious than a mere sprained ankle. Far more serious. If only he could get him to the relative safety of the woods, instead of out here in the open at the side of the lawn.

But no matter what option they chose, Udo _had_ to get up in order to get away from here. "Come on." He took his friend under the arms and hauled him up, supporting him with his own body as best he could.

It got another barely stifled scream out of Udo, but he was too occupied dealing with the pain to object to his being pulled to his feet.

"Let's see." Holding him steady, Karl inspected Udo's legs. The right one didn't seem to give him any trouble, but the crooked and twisted shape of the left was almost spooky. Double fracture at least, he presumed. And the way it dangled there, as a useless appendage...

"You broke your leg alright," he said, trying to get a pinch of humour into his voice. "We better get you to a doctor. Come on." He placed Udo's arm around his own neck and took a careful step towards the woods.

But Udo positively howled, and Karl nearly dropped him in his hurry to clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Ssh! Keep quiet!"

Udo shook his head in despair, and Karl felt how he tried to lower himself to the ground again.

"Come on. I'll carry you. Put your arms around my neck and hold on."

That went better, although having Udo's gasps and ragged breathing in his ear made him expect his poor friend to throw up down his neck any moment.

He was heavy as a dead weight though – he probably weighed more than Karl to begin with – and Karl was relieved to reach the edge of the woods he'd been aiming for.

"Careful. I'm going to lower you to the ground now. Make sure you land on your right foot."

A far too audible gasp, a quick turn, and he carefully helped his friend to sit down with his crooked leg in front of him instead of under him.

Udo seemed barely aware of him anymore, engrossed as he was in surviving the pain and trying his utmost not to scream. The way he clawed in the ground and pulled at his hair and breathed in gasps through clenched teeth were clear indicators of just how much pain he had to endure.

Karl regarded his friend with a worried frown. For what now?

In theory he should be able to carry him all the way back to the car – if it wasn't for that eight foot fence.

The only entrance without a fence was the main gate – but that was guarded. They were lucky enough that the security on the grounds was so slack, but they'd never get out of that main gate unnoticed.

He spied around into the night, but it was hard to make out anything definite against the black of the trees. Maybe he should just go and see what he could find. And find out how to take on the guards.

But first... He pulled up Udo's black sweater and quickly tore off the silk bags with his share of their booty.

"What...?" Udo gasped.

"Ssh. I'll take them. There is not much chance of them finding you here, but if they would, it's probably better to get caught as a trespasser than as a thief." By hook or by crook he managed to use the now useless tape to tie the additional full bags around his body, and tugged in his sweater just to make sure he couldn't lose them. It really couldn't escape anyone's notice now that he was hiding something under that sweater, but it would just have to do.

"Now why don't you lie down – all the less chance of them seeing you," he suggested in a friendly whisper. He brushed away a few twigs and branches and...

Wait. Branches? A sudden memory from childhood rushed to his mind: vacation in Hamelburg, and Udo who had wanted to practise for his first aid badge for the boy scouts. How old had they been – nine maybe? And they had gone to the woods, and he had to be the victim who broke all his arms and legs, so Udo could practise splinting them with branches. For that was important – broken bones had to be splinted as soon as possible to keep them steady and to relieve the pain for the patient. Or something like that.

"Hold on – I'll be back in a sec."

There were enough branches lying around, but it took a while in the dark to locate two straight and sturdy ones of approximately the right length.

"Here," he said when he returned. "Remember your boy scout training?" And he bit his lip. Darn it – how was Oskar Danzig to know that Udo had been in the boy scouts?

Fortunately, Udo was too engrossed in the pain to notice this unpardonable slip of the tongue. So he knelt down next to his friend, placed the branches on either side of the crooked leg (which already caused some extra gasps from the patient), and pulled off his belt. Sliding it under the crooked leg and...

Udo screamed.

Quickly, Karl clamped his hand over Udo's mouth. "Keep it down!" He waited for his friend to gather what was left of his wits, and then whispered, "A broken leg _needs_ to be splinted, Udo. It helps for the pain. Now I'm going to have to get this belt around it, and..."

Udo grabbed his arm and shook his head. Fervently. "_Don't_ touch," he panted.

Karl regarded him doubtfully. "Are you sure? They say it relieves the pain somewhat – to steady the bones."

Udo just shook his head again and pushed him away.

A sigh. "Alright. Your choice." Carefully, he removed the branches again, and put his belt back on. "Now I'm going to scout the grounds to see what's the easiest way out of here. So why don't you lie down. Less chance of them seeing you."

Even the process of lying down clearly represented hell for Udo, but once he'd settled down a little, Oskar got up and whispered, "Now you stay here and keep quiet. Don't worry, I'll be back. And I promise you: I'll get you out of here and to a doctor, even if I have to carry you on my back all the way to Hamelburg, okay?"

Udo nodded slightly.

"Don't worry. I'll be back shortly." With that, he disappeared in the shadows, and quickly made his way back to the mansion.

He hesitated a moment in the shadow of the monumental stairs leading up to the front door. Would it be useful to check inside? He might find a uniform or two that could fool the guards and help them escape. On the other hand, who would believe them to be officers, with their sootblack faces? They'd need a good scrub to get that off, which would leave him – Danzig – without his disguising make-up as well. _Not_ a good idea – scratch the uniforms.

He moved stealthily on, rounded the corner of the house... and stopped dead in his tracks. That was it – the solution, or at least the beginning of a solution to their problem: a car!

Silently he approached the vehicle, and pulled the window-latch opener from his pocket. Not the most ideal instrument to open a car door, but it would have to do.

It took a few minutes, and in his eagerness he scraped the paint a few times, but finally the door clicked open.

Quickly he climbed in and pulled the door almost shut. He had to think first now.

First of all, the distance from here to where he had left Udo was at least five times the distance he had carried him before. It'd be difficult, but he should be able to manage that without having to put him down for a rest halfway.

Moving the car to Udo would be easier of course, but that was far more likely to attract the attention of the guards at the gate.

Okay, so let's assume he could get Udo in the car. What next? Just drive off and barge through that barrier past those guards?

Yeah, right, they'd be after them in a second, and probably start shooting. Too risky.

No, he'd better go and scout out those guards as well.

* * *

Ten minutes later he nearly tripped over his friend as he sought his way back through the woods. "Udo! How is the pain?"

"Awful," Udo grated out through clenched teeth.

Karl squatted down beside him. "But I've found us a way out. A car!" he whispered. "Come on – it's all ready and waiting for you."

He began to pull his friend up in a sitting position, and Udo moaned loudly. "Not carry me again?"

"Yes. Sorry. Too dangerous to bring the car over here."

Not quite succeeding in stifling his gasps and cries, Udo was helped up by his friend, and instructed to put his arms around his neck and not to let go before he was told to. "It's quite a bit further than before, so hold on!"

Staying in the shadows as much as he could, Karl quickly moved past the house. But gradually, as the weight of his friend seemed to increase with every step, he began to slow down, clenching his teeth in determination not to have to rest halfway and put them in extra danger out here in the open. And with Udo half crying in his ear...

By the time he reached the car he was positively staggering, and had to steady himself on the hood to keep his balance. "Careful," was all he brought out before he let go of his load. But all he managed to do at first was to keep his gasping friend upright while he struggled to catch his breath.

But then he opened the door on the passenger side. "In you go. You think you can do that?"

Pushing himself up on the carseat was manageable, though he barely managed to hold back another howl of pain the moment he sat down. But the real trouble began when they had to get his puppet-like leg in.

Karl already bent over to take hold of it to help him, but Udo pushed him away. "Don't touch," he ground out.

Karl waited for him to do it himself then, but Udo made no move to do that. The twisted, eerily limp leg just dangled there, completely out of shape, and Karl tried hard not to stare at it. It made him feel uncomfortably queasy. Instead he focused his attention on his friend's contorted face. "You're going to_ have_ to pull that leg in, mate. We can't drive like that."

Udo moaned softly. "Can't. Touch and I'll _scream_."

Karl gulped. This was rough, but if they'd want to get out of here... "Then you clamp both your hands over your mouth to stifle that scream, and I'll put your leg in."

"Nooo!" Udo half cried.

But Karl forced himself to be inexorable, no matter how hard it was in the face of his friend's agony. "Hands over your moth," he ordered sternly, and put one of them in place for him already. "Ready? Now bite down hard and..." With a swift move he manoeuvered the wobbly leg inside, while Udo only half managed to clamp down on his scream.

As Karl straightened himself and grabbed his friend's shoulder to comfort him, Udo was finally straight-out crying. "It hurts," his friend choked out. "_So_ bad..."

Karl squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. But seeing how Udo didn't know what to do with himself for the pain, he sent up a fervent prayer that they just hadn't made things worse...

He watched him for a moment, but as things barely seemed to settle down, he squeezed his friend's shoulder again. "The sooner we get you to a doctor, the better. I'll go and take care of the guards now. I'll be back in ten minutes max, and then we're off, okay?"

Udo gave no recognition that he had heard Oskar's words, so with a worried look, Karl squeezed his shoulder once more, closed the door of the car and disappeared in the shadows.

It was several hundred meters to the main gate – probably their salvation from the guards there reacting to Udo's screams.

He had already figured out how to take the two guards, so he went over the fence just around the corner of the grounds, and approached his first target through the trees on the public side. From tree to tree he moved, but only when the guard walked away from him. A steady ten pace forth, ten pace back. And at his turning-point on this side of the gate, he was out of sight from the other guard who was lounging in the sentry box.

So the next time he came around... Karl tensed for the jump and... a chop in the neck and the man went down without a sound.

And back to the shelter of the trees he went, to wait for the other guard to come and see what his colleague was up to.

Every second he had to wait for that guy was exactly one second too many. With Udo in such agony back there... But he had to wait till the man came this way – there was no way he could approach the sentry box himself without being seen.

And finally... _finally_ he came. "Heinz? Heinz, what are you... Heinz!" Quick footsteps, the man bending down over his fallen comrade, and the next moment he joined him in dreamland.

Karl swiftly ran past them and lifted the barrier. There was no telling how much time he had before the guards would wake up – probably very little. Tying them up would take too much time, so instead he ran as the devil back to the house, jumped into the car where Udo was still gasping, connected the wires he'd already pulled free the first time, and with a roaring motor he steered the car along the dark driveway.

There was the barrier. From the corner of his eye he saw the two guards already sitting up, jerking into action as the car sped past them in a right turn onto the road.

Well, at least they made it this far.

Suddenly he felt Udo's hand grasping his arm. He glanced aside. "What?"

"Back seat," Udo croaked. "My leg... back seat."

Of course – why hadn't he thought of that? On an ordinary car seat, that wobbly leg had no support at all. No wonder it hurt so much more. The back seat at least would act as a splint by itself – sort of.

He nodded as a new plan came up in his mind. "Hold on. We'll fix it in a minute." And he turned into the woodlane where they had hidden their own car. "We'll just wait and see if they're coming after us," he said quietly. Not that they could see the road from here, but that wasn't necessary: within a few minutes they heard a car race past in the direction they had been going.

Karl grinned. "Good. Then let me open the door first, and then I'll help you over, okay?"

It was still a very painful exercise for the patient, but after that first disaster, Udo did his utmost to keep his wits about him this time. He had already learned the hard way this evening that his own cooperation – excruciatingly painful though it may be – actually made things easier on himself.

But no one could be more relieved than Karl when his anxious question whether the patient was more comfortable now was met with an affirmative nod.

"Then let's get you to a doctor right now!"

And he started the motor and turned left – blatantly past the manor from which they had just escaped. And past one of the guards who stood staring down the road in their direction... and barely gave them a glance.

* * *

Dr. Bauer (1) wasn't surprised at all to be called out of bed at 3.30 in the morning – after all, that's part of the job.

He was a tad surprised however to find a black-clad stranger on his doorstep with a sootblack face to boot.

He chuckled. "Well, good morning, Krampus! You're a bit early this year, aren't you?"

The stranger grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that. But my friend in the car here has broken his leg – by the looks of it in two places at least. Can you please help him?"

Dr. Bauer tied his dressing-gown. "Let's take a look at that leg first." He took a pair of scissors from his bag by the door and followed his nocturnal visitor to the car. He clambered into the narrow space next to the backseat, mindful not to touch the black-clad legs on the seat. "Now let's see." He looked up into the eyes of his shivering patient. "Well, well, if it isn't young Udo Steinmetz. What have you been up to tonight, my boy?"

Udo made but a faint grimace.

"Now let's see. And you better look the other way for a while, because judging by the crooks I already see, this will not be a pretty sight."

He swiftly cut up the black pants under Udo's gasps. And sucked in his own breath. "Sorry, lad, but I'm not going to meddle with this. I'll give you a painkiller, and then I'm going to take you straight to Düsseldorf. This is a specialist's job."

He got out of the car and turned to the hovering stranger. "So how did that happen?"

"He was sleepwalking and fell down the stairs," Karl deadpanned.

Dr. Bauer raised an eyebrow. "Face first into the coal-shed, I presume?" He shook his head. "And you got equally dirty trying to get him out, right? Nice story for Düsseldorf, mein Herr, but what _really_ happened?"

Karl sighed. "I didn't see it myself. He jumped down – less than two meters it was – and must have landed wrong."

"And you've been carrying him and dragging him around quite a bit, am I right?"

Karl took a deep breath to respond, halted himself, and then simply said, "Well, I couldn't leave him there, could I?"

The doctor nodded, with a smug look at the bulging black sweater. "I get the picture, yes. Now you stay with him; I'll be back in a moment."

He was back in a minute, with a blanket, the promised painkiller, some soap and a wet cloth. He handed the latter two to the stranger. "Now if you can make him look a bit more presentable – like he really came straight out of bed? The sleepwalker story is believable – adding the coal-shed is not."

Karl grinned, and got to work on his friend's face as soon as te doctor had administered the sedative and went back inside to get dressed.

Udo subjected himself to his friend's scrub-down without protest. The sedative was already beginning to kick in, making him drowsy and reducing the infernal pain in his leg to a mere unpleasant throb. He was vaguely surprised to realize how exhausted he was – merely from trying to stay on top of the pain?

"Feeling a little better?" Oskar asked as he sat back on his heels – apparently finished with the clean-up job.

He nodded vaguely, trying to remember what he wanted to ask. "What... what coal-shed?"

Oskar grinned. "Your cover-story. And forget about the coal-shed. You were just sleepwalking and you fell down the stairs – got it?"

Udo nodded. "Got it." He grimaced. "I bet I'm going to be cooped up in hospital for months..."

"We'll come and visit you," Oskar promised. "And look on the bright side: they won't be sending you to the front any time soon."

Udo even produced a small chuckle. "You'd almost think I engineered this on purpose. You know, secretly, without knowing myself."

"Subconsciously," Oskar supplied.

"Yes. Though I'd wish I'd had chosen something a little less... painful. Like..." He shrugged. "I don't know."

Oskar smiled. "And I'll see if I can arrange one of those bad health certificates for you, too, in the meantime, okay?"

Udo closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes. Please do. I don't want to go and shoot at people. Especially not in the name of the bloody Führer." He looked up. "You think my leg will be alright?"

A sad shrug. "I don't know, mate. I'm not a doctor. You'll have to wait and see what the doctors in Düsseldorf say."

Another sigh. "Well, at least if I end up in a wheelchair, they'll _never_ send me to the front."

"You're not going to end up in a wheelchair, Udo." There was Dr. Bauer again, with a too large pyjama top to exchange with Udo's telltale black sweater. "This mishap might leave you with a bad limp, but that's about it. So don't worry your head off about wheelchairs." He helped the patient to change into the pyjama top. "Alright. Ready everyone?"

Karl got out of the car and closed the door.

"Aren't you coming?" the doctor asked in surprise.

The stranger shook his head. "I'd better not. He's in good hands now. I'll come and pick up the car some time tonight, okay?"

Dr. Bauer frowned. "As you wish." But suddenly his eyes narrowed. "The car – it isn't stolen, is it?"

A quick, disarming smile. "Don't worry, it's not." He nodded to Udo. "Take care, my friend. I'll see you soon."

With a final wondering glance at the stranger, Dr. Bauer brought the motor to life, and Karl watched it drive off on its way to the hospital in Düsseldorf.

And then he turned on his heel, and sought his way home by the backalleys of Hamelburg.

* * *

.

(1) Dr. Bauer originates from Eva Seifert's _Theater of War_. He already appeared in some of Danzig's other stories: _The Pied Piper of Hamelburg_ and _Robin Hood's Christmas Party_.


	23. Stalag 13

It was nearly three months before Udo was released from the hospital in Düsseldorf. Three months of which he spent most of his nights in terror.

For England was fighting back, and one of their most noticeable strategies were the nocturnal bombing raids on German military and industrial targets.

The industrialized Ruhr area, with Düsseldorf as one of its main centers, was in easy range of the British bombers, and the city's industries took a heavy beating nearly every night. But everyone knew by now that – be it by accident or on purpose – bombs didn't always fall where they were supposed to fall...

In those months, he had come to fear the howl of the air raid siren more than anything else. The hospital did have a spacious air raid shelter for the more mobile patients and the staff. But he was anything _but_ mobile – heck, with his leg in the traction, they couldn't even move him with bed and all!

Which meant that every time that air raid siren started to howl, he was left to the mercy of fate.

But the worst had been the times when all his roommates were mobile enough to get to the shelter, and he was left entirely alone in the dark ward, with bombs whistling all around him...

Still on crutches, he was welcomed back into the small circle of their so-called drama club with a little celebration. His friends had put together their sugar and butter rations, Hasso the miller had provided the flour, and where in the world had they got hold of the _real_ whipped cream that prided the cake with, '_Welcome Home_'?

"_Don't_ ask," Maryse warned him in mock stern as she served him a second helping. And so coy as they all were about it made Udo suspect they hadn't exactly procured it the legitimate way.

So he said, "Well, no matter _how_ you got hold of it, this was just what I needed after all that hospital food. You guys are the best!"

Oskar gave him a warm grin. "Good to have you back, mate."

It was still a few more months before he was allowed to hand in his crutches, leaving him to walk with a considerable limp. But according to Dr. Bauer, that was as much psychological as it was physiological. "That leg is as good as new. Now it's all a matter of training it again to do its work. And of course to learn to trust it again – that is probably the hardest part."

But it gave Karl an idea, and he took his friend aside before the next 'rehearsal' of their never to be staged play. "Hey, now that you're mobile again, why don't you volunteer for service as guard in the new prison-camp?"

Udo raised his eyebrows. "Uh-uh. My medical certificate proudly declares me unfit for military service. And I'm certainly not going to _volunteer_ for anything."

"Your medical certificate declares you unfit for marching, parachuting and work on unstable floors, like on a ship. That pretty much excludes every branch of the military for you, but none of these things are required for guarding prisoners in a prison-camp."

"But why would you want me to guard prisoners? I'd much rather go back to my studies."

Oskar sighed. "Udo, be reasonable. The Nazis control our science nowadays. If you go back to the university, with _your_ background in chemistry and engineering, I'll bet you a thousand marks that all they're going to allow you – to _force_ you to do is design new weapons for chemical warfare or something like that. Maybe even split the atom. Is that what you want?"

Udo's face darkened. "No. But that still doesn't explain why I should go and guard prisoners."

"Okay, let me lay it out for you. First of all, your deferment in favour of your studies is obviously forfeit, since you already got drafted _before_ you broke your leg. Right now, you have the choice of either going to work for the Nazis in your field of expertise, or you're out of work. You've already vetoed the first option, and being out of work means at your age that they're going to get back onto you for the military pretty soon – despite your medical certificate. It's likely to keep you away from the front, yes. But they need people behind the lines, too. And what better place for a guy with a bad limp and no military training than a prison-camp?"

Udo shook his head. "I follow you so far – now you're talking gibberish again. _Why_ would you want me in a prison-camp?"

"To help the prisoners to escape of course! And then we take over – we provide them with papers and civilian clothes and maps etcetera, so they'd stand a much better chance to get out of Germany!"

Udo frowned as he digested that. "But they're prisoners!" he objected.

"That doesn't mean they're criminals," Oskar countered. "The camp here is a Luftwaffe camp, so they're bound to be fly-boys who survived being shot down. That doesn't make them criminals. And we could help them to get back to their own side so they can help fight the Nazis again."

Udo was silent.

"And if you _volunteer_ for duty, mollifying them by stressing you want to do the very little you are _able_ to do for the bloody Fatherland in your condition, there's a good chance you'll be granted your request to be stationed right here in Hamelburg, close to your family and friends. If instead you wait till you get drafted, there's no knowing _where_ they might send you."

Udo sighed. "I still don't like it, but I see your point. And I'll think about it – that's all I'll promise you for now."

His rehearsing his role as the pathetically impaired young patriot, eagerly offering his humble services for the glory of the Fatherland with Danzig the following weekend was the result, and within a week of Oskar's first mentioning it, the new Private Steinmetz reported to the camp's Sergeant of the Guard for duty.

"He's as round as a barrel," he reported to his friends when he saw them again a few days later. "But I believe he's a good guy. They say he's the president of the Schatzi Toy Company, and when the Nazis confiscated the factory to convert it for their own purposes, he got posted here. But he admits himself that he doesn't even keep his gun loaded."

Oskar chuckled. "At least that solves _your_ problem with the shooting. Can't hurt anyone with an empty gun."

"So how many escapes were there this week?" Young Franz's eyes sparkled with the anticipation of meeting real flyers – he'd _love_ to become a pilot himself one day.

But Udo shook his head. "None. One guy tried to go over the wire, but he got caught before he was over and got thrown in the cooler."

"What's that – the cooler?" Maryse wanted to know.

"Kind of a large, concrete bunker with no windows," he explained. "That's where the prisoners get locked up for a while if they've been really bad."

"Like trying to escape," Hasso nodded.

"Yes. Or calling the Kommandant names. Things like that."

"And what's the Kommandant like?"

Udo shrugged. "I haven't seen much of him yet. Rumour has it that he's furious about being posted here, and that he's pulling every possible string to get back to the glory of the front. But most of the guards are pretty happy to be stationed here, away from the front. They're not such a bad bunch."

"And have you had any contact with the prisoners yet?" Maryse asked.

He shook his head. "So far, I've only been guarding the entrance to the Kommandant's office. And that's a horribly boring job – I can tell you that!"

Soon he began to leave digging tools and wirecutters in unobtrusive places. They always disappeared in record time, but even though the number of attempted escapes increased indeed, the number of ultimately successful ones remained a mere trickle. It was frustrating to know that their clandestine center to assist escaped POW's would indeed be able to make a difference – if only the escaping prisoners knew about it! But he could hardly put up a notice in the rec hall, saying,

_Attention all prisoners!  
If you're in need of ID papers, civilian clothes, maps and anything you need for a successful escape,  
head to the windmill along the road to Glückenheim as soon as you bust out of camp.  
Confidentiality guaranteed!_

So far, he had had very little contact with the prisoners. He hadn't been assigned the responsibility for a certain barracks yet, and all he ever got to do was standing guard at the Kommandant's office, guarding the front gate, and guarding from one of the watchtowers. And having witnessed up close how strictly the Kommandant adhered to the non-fraternization rule, he was wary to provoke the man's ire by all too obvious attempts to talk to the prisoners.

If only he would be able to talk to anyone who seriously planned to escape...! But how was _he_ to know who was planning such things?

No – as far as he was concerned, the idea of helping escaped prisoners was laudable, but it didn't quite work in practice.

But he dutifully reported the goings-on in the camp.

"Two men were caught this morning when their tunnel collapsed right on top of them."

"We got a visit from the overall boss of the Luftwaffe camps yesterday – a Colonel Burkhalter. He's even rounder than Sergeant Schultz!"

"We're getting Americans in the camp now, too."

"The prisoners are showing a sudden fondness for gardening. If you ask me, it's a smokescreen to hide sand from their digging a new tunnel. I wonder when it's going to collapse again."

"You wouldn't believe what I saw yesterday: the flagpole suddenly grew by at least a meter! I bet the prisoners have built a radio, and are using the flagpole for an antenna. I'd love to see how they managed that!"

"There were a couple of big shots from Berlin visiting today. They've been in the Kommandant's office for hours."

"We're getting a new Kommandant tomorrow. A Colonel Klink. Major Wieland has finally been granted his wish: he's been transferred to the front."

"That rolled beef Burkhalter came to visit again today, together with some civilian guy. They've been talking in the office for the entire afternoon, and nobody was allowed to go in – not even Sergeant Schultz."

"We got a _black_ prisoner the other day. His name is Kinslow or something like that. It was really embarrassing, for all the guards were staring at him as if he were a monkey in the zoo. And the prisoners, too. But I wonder how he got here. I thought the Americans didn't want the blacks on their planes?"

"We got an American _colonel_ now. I thought this camp was only for the lower ranks, but apparently not. So far he hasn't been out of the cooler yet, but he looks real smart. I bet he'll break out of camp within a week."

"The American colonel hasn't escaped _yet_. The guards are putting bets on how long it will take him. I've already lost."

"The American colonel hasn't escaped _yet_. And there was some real hush-hush meeting in the Kommandant's office yesterday. With extra guards and everything."

"The American colonel _still_ hasn't escaped. And Colonel Klink has put an ad in the paper for a secretary with good English skills. Something for you, Maryse? You're fluent in English, aren't you?"

She nodded. "It might not be such a bad idea actually," she mused. "With all those secret meetings and visiting big shots you're always talking about. Who knows what I could overhear as an innocent secretary?"

Karl stared at her in appalled disbelief. "You got to be joking..."

She looked up. "Why? I've got several years' experience as a secretary, and my English is of a near native level, so..."

"How come?" Udo interrupted her. "Where did you learn to speak English so well?"

"I spent much of my childhood in London. My father was a correspondent there," she told him.

"But really, Maryse," Danzig brought their attention back to the heart of his problem. "A secretary in a _prison-camp_? With hundreds of horny men who haven't seen a woman in I don't know how long? That isn't _asking_ for trouble – that's plain _begging _for trouble!"

She patted his hand. "Udo can escort me from the gate to the office and back. You trust Udo, don't you?" She couldn't quite keep the teasing tone out of her voice, and it sure wasn't lost on her boy-friend.

"Well, you can mock me all you want, but really, you have _no idea_ what a prison-camp full of males is like."

"I've never been in one, no." Maryse crossed her arms over her chest in feminine defiance. "Have you?"

"No, but..."

"But Udo has," she cut in. "So Udo, what's it like for a young woman to work in an all-male prison-camp?"

Udo grinned. "I wouldn't know – really. I don't think I've ever seen a woman in camp as long as I've been there – be it young _or_ old."

Karl threw up his hands. "I rest my case!" He shook his head. "You're not setting a _foot_ in that camp, Maryse. Not as long as I have a say in it."

"Well, who says you have? I'm sure the Kommandant would guarantee my safety. Wouldn't he, Udo?"

Udo opened his mouth to reply, but Karl beat him to it. "And who says that Kommandant wouldn't try to have his way with you himself? It's been done before, you know – the classical tale of the boss and his secretary."

Suddenly she stood. "Ka... Kindly remember, Herr Danzig, that you don't _own_ me. Not _yet_. I know you mean well, but I'm sick and tired of you trying to protect me from every possible danger – real or imagined. So whether you like it or not, I'm going home right now, and I'm going to apply for that job. And there is _nothing_ you can do about it. Good night."

They both stared after her as she grabbed her coat and hat and marched out of the room.

As soon as the door fell shut behind her, Karl raked his fingers through his dark hair. "Oof... I blew it. Big time." He sagged in his chair.

But, "I wouldn't worry," Udo tried to cheer him up. "Women are like that sometimes. Let her blow off some steam, and all will be right as rain again tomorrow. You'll see."

"But I _really_ don't want her to go and work in that prison-camp." He looked up. "What's that Kommandant Klink like?"

Udo shrugged. "Seems a decent enough fellow. Fiftyish, half bald, reasonably smart. But I haven't seen him around the ladies of course."

Karl groaned. "Udo... can't you intercept that letter of hers for me? Please?"

"How? I never come in the office."

"Can't you accept the mail when you're guarding the office?"

"The postman always takes it in himself."

"Then who does come in the office?"

"Regularly, you mean? Well, as I said: the postman – but he just drops off the mail and leaves. And Kommandant Klink of course, and Sergeant Schultz. And Colonel Hogan."

"Who's that?"

"The American colonel I told you about. Since he is by far the highest in rank among the prisoners, he serves as a sort of liaison between the prisoners and the Kommandant." Better not mention that going by the general standards, most ladies would probably describe the American colonel as 'dashing'... "Look mate, you're probably worrying about nothing. She hasn't even got the job yet."

Karl merely sighed.

"I know you want to keep her safe," Udo continued with his unsollicited advice. "But as long as you don't marry her, she's under no obligation whatsoever to do what you want her to. So why don't you?"

"What – marry her?"

"Yes. You love her, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you? Marry her, I mean."

Another sigh. "I can't. It wouldn't be prudent at a time like this – not to mention totally impractical with my double role here. I want to marry her the very day this blasted war is over. But for now I just want to keep her safe. Out of trouble. It's bad enough that she insisted on joining us. If she'd be married to me, she'd be toast the moment they pick _me_ up. Better keep that link unofficial for now. No matter _how_ much I'd love to make her my wife."

"But that does mean there is nothing to stop her from standing up to you occasionally," Udo pointed out. "But don't worry. I'll try and keep an eye on the secretary situation, okay?"

Karl's worries were indeed for nought, for only a few days later, Udo reported that the Kommandant had hired his new secretary: a pretty young lady named Helga Lindner.

"Helga _Lindner_?" Maryse reacted. "What does she look like?"

She rolled her eyes when Udo made the universal hourglass gesture in reply, but Danzig grinned.

"Can you be a little more specific perhaps?" she demanded.

"Why? Do you know her?" Udo wanted to know.

"I might. Remember?" She turned to her boy-friend. "That girl who worked in the cloakroom with me when we first met."

Karl frowned. "You mean the one who cajoled me into courting you?"

Udo burst out laughing. "Now _that's_ a story I'd love to hear!"

Oskar waved him away. "Some other time. But yes, I do believe her name was Helga, yes."

"Helga _Lindner_," Maryse confirmed, and turning back to Udo, "So what _does_ she look like? Apart from her perfect figure."

"Real pretty," Udo admitted. "The bluest eyes, a perfect round face with the sweetest smile, silverblond hair..."

Oskar snickered. "Sounds like you're madly in love with her yourself."

And Maryse nodded. "Well, it sure sounds like her."

Oskar shook his head. "Then I do hope she knows what she's getting into..."

She hit him playfully in the chest. "You worry-wart. But I'd sure like to see her again. Who knows – perhaps _she_ could be our liaison in the Kommandant's office and tell us all about the secret meetings and stuff."

"Speaking of secret meetings," Udo picked up. "The weirdest thing has happened this week. At first I didn't even dare to believe that it really did happen, but since I've seen it happening _again_, I'm pretty sure by now that it did happen after all."

Oskar raised his eyebrows. "You're speaking in riddles, my friend. What are you talking about?"

"Well, this week, me and one of the other guards have been following the Kommandant on his heels when he goes around to collect the reports for roll call. Now the prisoners have assigned places for roll call, so the barracks' guard can check them quickly and efficiently."

"I bet they love to mess up that efficiency though," Oskar grinned.

"They do, but that's not the problem. It's the man standing behind Colonel Hogan. Usually it's a tall, gangly young man with dark curly hair and dark eyes. But last Sunday, suddenly there was a fortyish short stocky man standing in that place. It was the marked difference between them that caught my attention, but at first I thought I was imagining things. The next morning the dark young man was back anyway."

"Maybe he's an impersonator," Maryse joked.

"With that difference in height? Anyway, two days later he was missing from roll call _again_, and in his place stood a tall blond guy. Now I got really curious, and I studied all the men in the line. But unless he was hiding in the barracks, the dark young man wasn't there. And the odd thing is, I saw him in town that same evening, calmly having dinner at the Hofbrau!"

"So? He escaped. Good for him."

"Yes, but the next morning he was back in camp again! Now how do you explain _that_?"

Maryse shrugged. "He must have been caught."

"Then why wasn't he thrown in the cooler? Besides, I've asked around at the camp, and there haven't _been_ any escapes this week. Two attempts, yes, but they barely got over the wire. So what was that guy doing in town, and _why_ did he go _back_? And how? It just doesn't make sense! And how come Sergeant Schultz – who's their barracks' guard – doesn't even notice that it's a different man every other night?"


	24. Mystery

They both watched Danzig frown in concentration as he tried to connect the odd facts somehow. "What army is he in?"

"American."

"How long has he been in the camp?"

"I don't know. There are too many prisoners to keep track of every individual. I hadn't particularly noticed him before, but that doesn't mean he wasn't there."

"Do you know his name?"

Udo shook his head.

"And you're absolutely certain it was the same guy you saw in town the other night."

"Ninety-nine percent or more, yes."

Oskar rested his chin in his hand. "Could it be that he has a doppelgänger?"

"That still doesn't explain why Sergeant Schultz didn't notice him being replaced by someone else twice. He certainly isn't stupid."

"Maybe that was just a prank," Maryse ventured. "And he didn't want to get the prisoners in trouble by telling the Kommandant."

"Does the Kommandant know all the prisoners?" Oskar wanted to know.

Udo shook his head. "From what I've seen, I think he only knows Colonel Hogan on sight. And the black man of course – everyone knows _him_."

"Hm. And that tunnel you mentioned a while back – has that been discovered yet?"

Another shake of the head. "The prisoners are still busy with gardening, and I think most of the guards should be smart enough to realize it's got to do with them hiding the sand from digging a tunnel. But it hasn't been found yet." He chuckled. "If I would, I would probably do my utmost to look the other way."

Maryse snickered. "And if _all_ the guards do that..."

They shared a grin.

But Oskar was still pondering the little mystery they had on their hands. "The only logical explanation I can think of is indeed that it's all a coincidence: the prisoners were pulling a prank, the Sergeant didn't want to snitch on them for such a minor transgression, and..."

"_Minor_ transgression?" Udo protested. "Roll call is to check whether all the prisoners are still there! If that guy was missing...!"

"Yeah, yeah, but it could be just a prank, right?"

"Well... yes."

"And if the guy has a doppelgänger in town... It _has_ to be. I mean, what prisoner in his right mind would escape and then go _back_ into the prison of his own accord? Not to mention _how_ he could manage that without being noticed by the guards. If that tunnel isn't finished yet..."

"Or maybe they do know," Maryse suggested quietly.

"What?"

"Maybe the guards do know," she repeated. "If he's one of _them_ – like a plant or something. A spy."

Udo gave her a flabbergasted look. "What on earth would the Nazis want to spy on the prisoners for?"

"Well, you said he was in the same barracks as that Colonel Hogan, right?"

"Yes. And?"

"A colonel is pretty high, as far as I know. Isn't he?"

Oskar nodded, and she continued, "So maybe they're trying to pry military secrets from him. There must be a reason why they put him in _this_ camp, with only low-ranking soldiers."

"And you think some of the guards help this man to sneak out at night to report his findings to the Gestapo or something," Oskar concluded in a low tone.

She shrugged. "It _could_ be. I don't know."

"That still doesn't explain why Colonel Hogan doesn't seem to be bothered at all by the guy's occasional exchange for another prisoner," Udo pointed out.

Another shrug. "I don't know. But I find the idea of a perfect double rather far-fetched, too."

Oskar sighed, and rubbed his face. "I'm getting a headache of this. It just doesn't add up no matter _how_ you look at it. Udo – you think you could keep an eye on this guy?"

"Which one? Colonel Hogan or the other one?"

"The other one. And if he disappears again, let me know. Then we go to the Hofbrau together and find out if it's really him."

"If he does go there again of course. But I'm occasionally on duty at night as well."

"Then tell them you've got a headache or a toothache or whatever. I need _you_ to identify the man for me. I want to see what he's up to."

Udo nodded. "And I'll see if I can swap my shifts, so that I'll be accompanying the Kommandant again at roll call next week."

And so it was arranged.

And they didn't have to wait long. Only two days later, Private Steinmetz already barged into Maryse's, panting, "He's missing again, that dark young guy! There was a blond one in his place, but not the same one from before!"

"I'll get... Oskar."

"And please ask him to bring a civilian jacket that goes with Luftwaffe blue. If it really is this guy, I'd rather not have him recognize me as one of the guards."

She nodded.

A quick phonecall, and within ten minutes a stranger appeared at the door, holding out a dark blue jacket. "This should go with the blue of the tie, I think. Would you like me to give you a bit of a make-over as well?"

"Sure."

It certainly wasn't the first time that they only recognized their leader by his words, but Udo still found it a bit eerie. "Don't you find it disturbing that you don't even recognize your own lover?" he asked Maryse as Danzig knelt in front of him.

"Hold still, will you?" the latter ordered.

And Maryse replied with a sigh, "Well, you do get used to it over time – a little. He still surprises me regularly." She watched with interest how – with only a few lines – Karl completely changed the characteristics of Udo's face. He had taught her the basics last year, and they had spent a merry evening at the time with her experimenting on his face. Maybe she should ask him to teach her some more, just as an excuse to...

But Karl already got up. "Come on, let's go." All business-like.

And Maryse sighed as the front door fell shut behind the two men. Clearly, tonight was not going to be one of those scarce cosy evenings when she could have him all to herself. When she could just forget about the war for a while, and just enjoy his company, his talk, his laugh, his arms around her, his sweet kisses...

* * *

"There he is," Udo nodded under his breath as they entered the taproom.

Oskar followed his gaze. "Corner?"

"Yes."

But first they ordered two beers at the bar, and made their way to a free table across the room from the mysterious prisoner. Strategic seating gave them both a good view of the man at the corner table, and after a few minutes of sipping their beers in silence, Oskar inquired quietly, "You sure it's him?"

Udo nodded. "Positive."

"Good." He began to tell his companion a wild tale about a friend of his whose model train set had exploded. "And all he had done wrong was accidentally putting one of the points out of order. But when the train derailed at full speed, it toppled over and suddenly it exploded!"

"So I heard," Udo nodded. "I wish I could have seen it. I hope he didn't get hurt though?"

"No, he's fine. Fortunately, he wasn't standing on top of it when it happened. He's okay."

"It was just the end of the train set," Udo summarized with a grin. "And it clearly shows that electricity is no child's play. I hope your friend has learned his lesson."

Oskar grimaced. "I'm sure he has."

They were silent for a while after this exchange – which really was a veiled way of acquainting Udo with last night's sabotage caper. Udo's assignment as campguard meant he had to miss out on quite a few of their raids for rationbooks, ID cards and war sabotage, but they did keep him up-to-date on the bigger feats. Like accidentally blowing up a munitions train.

Udo began to relate some minor events out of the life of a prison-guard, and as they slowly sipped their beer, they both noticed how totally at ease their man was. He had finished his meal, and sat there browsing through the day's paper with a glass of wine as if he dined here every night.

It happened no less than four times that he was approached by another customer, and one of them – a small, elderly man Udo thought looked familiar – sat down with him for several minutes and had a hearty chat with him.

But all in all, the man's attitude was inconceivably carefree for an escaped prisoner in enemy territory.

"He obviously knows those people," Udo commented.

"And more importantly – they know _him_. I don't know _what_ he is, Udo, but he's no ordinary prisoner."

Udo glanced at him. "A double agent or something?"

Oskar nodded.

They both looked at the guy again over their beerglasses.

"He looks like a pleasant enough fellow though," Udo pointed out.

Oskar grimaced. "So would Hitler if he'd ever allow himself to smile."

Udo hid a snort in his beer. "I doubt it," he brought out and wiped away his sudden moustache. "You know, maybe we should go and talk to the guy. Draw him out. Start talking about the weather and move on from there."

"Hm."

"Or better still: let Maryse do that."

Oskar's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Maryse? Why her?"

Udo snickered. "Because a young man is more likely to inadvertantly spill secrets to a pretty girl than to other men. Come on... everybody knows that!"

"Hm." He had to admit Udo had a point there. Hadn't Marya constantly proven just that – even with older men?

But there was no time to contemplate on that now, for on the other side of the room, their person of interest had folded up his paper and gestured to the bar for his bill.

Oskar put down his beer and got up. "You pay for our drinks and wait till he's gone – then you go home. I'll go after him." He left a half-mark coin on the table and quickly disappeared outside.

Hiding in the shadow of the trees to the side of the square, he glanced at his watch. Half an hour to curfew – a logical time for anyone to go home.

And there he was, carrying a bulky, pretty heavy package that instantly peaked Karl's curiosity.

He allowed the man to cross the small square before setting off after him. It wasn't busy in the streets anymore at this hour, but there were still enough people around to make him inconspicuous.

Following him then on the same, then on the opposite side of the road, Karl was led straight out of town by the mystery man. Along the Hamelburg Road no less – the unpaved country-track that led past the prison-camp indeed!

The dark shadows of the trees made detection difficult for his prey, and the sandy ground smothered all sounds of footsteps. Karl carefully closed the distance between them a little – to make sure he wouldn't lose him in the woods. The bridge forced him to widen the gap again however, but once he thought it safe enough to hurry over, he was just in time to see his man disappear in the woods on the right.

He hurried to catch up with him, but it was hard to tell in the dark exactly where he had left the road.

Putting his trust in his lucky star, he began to seek his way through the wide maze of pine trees. The ground was covered with a carpet of pine needles, and surprisingly devoid of twigs and dead branches – but then, the trees were very tall here, with the only side branches being at the very top. At least it made the going easy and pretty much soundless. He just hoped he wouldn't accidentally stumble into his mystery man.

Ahead of him there was light – both strong steady lights and the sweeping dance of movable searchlights. That must be the camp.

After snooping around there a little while it was being built, he hadn't been back to the camp since, even though it was less than a ten minute walk from his house.

And there, against the background of light, he noticed his man again, too. It would be impossible for the guards to see him, looking from the light into the dark. And besides, who would be looking for someone breaking _into_ a prison?

He crept closer and closer over the sound absorbing needle carpet. For just as the guards couldn't see the mystery man, the mystery man would not be able to see _him_ either – as long as he stayed behind him.

The man seemed to wait for something. Karl crouched down behind one of the pine trees, and watched how he studied the camp from behind some bushes at the wood's edge. What was he waiting for?

He winced at a sudden dull '_plop_' beside him. And another. And another. A big drop on his head, his back, his hand... Oh great, seems like a nice little cloudburst was about to come down on him.

Before he had even finished the thought, the floodgates of heaven were flung wide open, and within twenty seconds flat he was absolutely drenched.

Whether the sudden rain was what the mystery man had been waiting for, or whether he just wanted to get inside, will – I suppose – remain a mystery forever. In any case, the guy suddenly jumped up with his package, ran across the few meters that separated the camp from the woods and...

Karl could scarcely believe his eyes, and seriously questioned if he saw this correctly through the curtain of pouring rain.

But against the strong lights of the camp, it _really_ looked like the guy simply... _raised_ a section of the outer fence, pushed in the package, rolled under it himself, and let the fence fall back in place. And then the same procedure with the inner fence, before he jumped up and disappeared in the shadows between the barracks.

Karl shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening...

He pushed himself to his feet. Maybe he should...?

Quickly, he made his soggy way over to the bushes where the mystery prisoner had been waiting. You could oversee much of the clearing from there indeed, but with the rain still coming down by the bucket, it was hard to make out anything definite in the distance. And that went for the guards, too, of course, so if he wanted to try it...

He waited for the searchlight to pass again, and quickly he crossed the few meters to the fence. This was where the guy had entered the camp, right across from that building.

He almost grabbed in the barbed wire in his eagerness to try and raise the fence, but then he noticed the black rail at the bottom. Muddy and slippery in the rain, but... Yes, he could easily lift it, and with it raise the entire section of the fence! Amazing...

It didn't bode well for the mystery man's affiliation though. For if the prisoners knew about this easy escape route, surely they would be flying out of here by the dozens?

A fierce dog's bark nearby brought him back to reality, and he quickly retreated to the bushes. The rain was beginning to subside, but there was still no other guard in sight save for the one on the guard tower some fifty meters away. Perhaps they were taking shelter from the rain, too?

And as he trudged back through the dark and dripping woods to the Hamelburg Road – on the alert not to run into anyone with his rained out make-up – and from there along a familiar track to his own place, he decided that this mystery certainly merited further investigation. If the guy was indeed a double agent who was to pry military secrets out of this Colonel Hogan... Or _whatever_ was going there. Heck, for all _they_ knew, the Allies could be running an espionage unit from inside that camp, with Sergeant Schultz and that Colonel Hogan as the leaders!

He unlocked his front door, wrung out his clothes the best he could, and stepped into the hall.

And chuckled to himself. "Espionage from _inside_ a POW-camp – yeah, right. You've been reading too many thrillers, my boy!"


	25. Charades

_Author's note: Sorry the update took a while, but both real life and the PBA interfered big time. I hope you'll enjoy my take on the first contact between the local underground and Hogan's team!  
By the way, will you believe that so short after my writing that story about Udo, my Mum went ahead and broke her leg, too? Almost spooky – as if I predicted it in the story..._ ;-)

.

* * *

Hamelburg was just the right size of town for this work, Karl reflected as he watched a squirrel hurry across his lawn. It was small enough to be familiar with most of its inhabitants' faces, yet big enough for a new face not to attract attention. It was a commodity they frequently put to good use by going around in disguise on some mission themselves. Without anyone wondering who they were and what they were doing here.

But this was different. If he'd follow Udo's advice – and the advice certainly made sense – then either he himself had to go in dressed as a lady, or they'd have to send one of the girls indeed.

His instinctive reaction was for him to dress up and go in himself. He hadn't done any female impersonating since the outbreak of the war, and to be honest, he was every so happy to have left that episode of his life behind him. Still, for the good cause?

But he had to consider Maryse as well. Up until now, he had run his resistance group here along the same lines he (and Schattner before him) had done in Berlin. In short, that meant the men went out risking to get caught or shot any moment (as Maryse so eloquently put it), and the women provided the necessary services behind the scenes: fake papers, fake orders, fitting, fixing and cleaning uniforms, distributing the seized ration books, running messages and the likes. Dangerous enough if they'd get caught, but not nearly as provocatively dangerous as going out stealing and sabotaging in commando black or Nazi uniform. After all, they _are_ women.

But his girl-friend had revolted against this division of labour from the very beginning, and her insisting on applying for that secretary job in the prison-camp had only been the most recent example. It wasn't so much that she resented his trying to protect her; no, it was much more her continuous fear for _his_ life that made her so rebellious and – in her own words – drove her half insane. In a way, she was as protective of him as he was of her, and he was sure that deep down, she would very much prefer to take over _all_ his missions if she could – if only to keep him safe.

Alright, and there was the matter of her simply being too smart to be content to sit back and let others (e.g. _men_) solve all the problems. It certainly was one of the things that made her so special, but it did come at a price: he did have to deal with her sometimes almost feministic arguments.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked out over his small garden where the squirrel was back, juggling a few beechnuts. Juggling a love-life with perilous resistance work sure wasn't easy. Maybe that's why the spies in the books were always bachelors. Or perhaps they retired as soon as they found the girl of their dreams?

But he had no intention of giving up the fight yet. And giving up Maryse simply was not an option. He had been miserable enough those few weeks when she had jilted him because of his resistance work – it would take an awful lot for him to even consider risking that again.

It did mean however that he had to try and keep her happy, and this might just be an occasion to let her have a share in the 'real' work. Not _too_ dangerous for his own peace of mind, and at the Hofbrau he could easily keep an eye on her. More than one even, if they were to put the other plan into action right away.

Upon being asked, Maryse immediately agreed to do it. (Not that Karl had expected any different.) "But with all those other people at the Hofbrau, I don't want to do it as myself. You know how people talk."

"Of course. I was thinking of going in as a shady blackmarketeer myself. Then you could be my glamorous sister who gets bored with the business talk and goes in search of other entertainment."

She grimaced. "Glamorous, you say? Karl, I don't _have_ anything glamorous."

"But I do. Come." He led her down into the cellar under his house, where large boxes were piled up to the ceiling.

"What's this?" Maryse inquired.

"My play-clothes, so to speak." He pulled down one of the top boxes in the corner and opened it for her. "I'm not that much taller than you, so I don't think they'd need much altering to fit you."

Wide-eyed, Maryse touched the expensive dark green silk. A myriad of glitters shifted as the material moved in the light of the bare bulb. "Karl..." she breathed. "How... Where did you get this?"

He smiled a little. "I've got a few dozen of them. And they'll all be yours one day, I hope."

With delicate fingers, Maryse lifted the dress out of the box. It had a few creases and folds from being stored so long, but still... "It's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes feasting on the elegant cut.

"And I bet it'll be even more beautiful with you in it. Why don't you try it on?"

"What – here?"

"You can use my bedroom." He already pushed her towards the stairs.

But, "Your _bedroom_? Karl, I don't think that's..."

He grinned. "Well, at least it has a full length mirror. Don't you want to see yourself in this? And I promise I won't peek until you let me in yourself."

"But where did you get these beautiful dresses? Did you use them for Danzig's show?"

"Some of them, yes. But most of the real expensive stuff is Marya's."

"Who is that? No." She sighed. "_Don't_ tell me. She's another one of those female impersonator acts."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You said it. Marya was a Russian astrologer who was quite a success with the big brass in Berlin. And they kept showering her with dresses and furs and jewelry and I know not what – both to entice her to stay with them, and to poke out the eyes of their envious colleagues."

Maryse nodded. "I get the picture. And apart from the dresses, you got a lot of useful information out of them, too, I bet."

"Of course. That was the whole idea."

With a resigned shake of the head, Maryse went upstairs with the dark green dress, and Karl whistled appreciatively when she came down to the living-room again.

She smiled hesitantly. "Isn't it a little too short?"

"Of course not. You've got lovely legs, so use them to your advantage. With a bit of luck, he'll be so engrossed in looking at your legs that he'll answer any question you ask him without realizing it."

Maryse grimaced. "I'd rather you men would notice more of me than just my legs."

"That's your personal pride as Maryse Gotthardt speaking. But _she's_ not going to the Hofbrau this week – Tatiana Bülow is. And _her_ job is to get that mystery prisoner to talk. And I don't care whether it's her legs, her dress, her conversation, her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her décolleté or _anything_ that does it, as long as you can lure him into talking."

She smiled. "I get the picture."

"So how is the dress? Do you need to alter it?"

"It's perfect." She chuckled mischievously. "I've always wanted a man whose clothes I could borrow."

"And shoes – do you have shoes to go with this? I don't think we have the same size there."

"No, I've got shoes." She made a coquettish twirl for him. "So how do I look?"

"Lovely." He caught her in his arms and kissed her. "Far too lovely in fact to let you go out of the house. But I promise you – I'm personally going to deck any male who pays undue attention to you!"

She grinned. "Except our mystery man of course."

A chuckle. "Except him, yes. I may defer that till later."

* * *

The next time Udo noticed the mystery man having disappeared from the camp, he had unfortunately only just come on duty, and there was no way he could warn his friends that night. And before his shift was over, the guy was back in camp.

But a few days later, Udo's shift ended shortly after an impromptu roll call in honour of the newly promoted General Burkhalter – a roll call where the mystery man's place was occupied by a young guy in blue RAF uniform!

So he went straight to Maryse's once he was off-duty, and within fifteen minutes the threesome was together, preparing for their night out. They had already brought their play-clothes (as Oskar called them) here a few days back, and it didn't take long for them to get changed.

"By the way, I found that part of the fence you were talking about," Udo told Oskar as they changed into their somewhat gaudy blackmarketeer outfits in the kitchen.

Oskar sighed. "You couldn't resist, could you? I hope you didn't draw attention to it?"

"Of course not. I simply swapped my nightshift from the watchtower to the compound. Most guards like to be up on the watchtower and play with the searchlight, you know. But Sergeant Schultz is still favouring me with standing duties instead of walking duties. But it's nice to be able to walk around sometimes. And in the dark I can even let go of my limp – they can't tell us apart from up the towers anyway."

"So what did you find out?"

"It's definitely new – much newer than the fence itself. And you can't lift it entirely – only maybe half a meter. Enough for a person to roll under it."

"And its location?"

"Behind barracks 6. Which is indeed pretty close to barracks 2 where Colonel Hogan and our mystery man are housed."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Well, perhaps he can shed some light on it tonight."

They went back to the living-room where the light was better to do Udo's make-up, and Udo whistled when Maryse joined them again wearing the dark green dress. "Hey, Herr Bülow, you didn't tell me your sister was _that_ pretty. Can I ask her out for a date?"

Maryse gave him a tense little smile, but Oskar warned him in mock stern to watch it. "I vowed I would deck anyone who paid undue attention to her tonight, and I have every intention of keeping that promise!"

Udo flashed Maryse a grin, and once his make-up was taken care of, he left the house by the back door to go and keep an eye on the situation at the Hofbrau.

"Come on, your turn." Karl gestured to the chair, and hesitantly, Maryse sat down. She didn't have all that much experience with the result of Karl's magic fingers on her own face, and it was with some trepidation that she left her appearance at his mercy. Who knows what she'd look like in fifteen minutes time? Different of course, but _how_ different? In what way?

She felt Karl's soft fingers rubbing something into her cheeks, and suddenly he asked, "Scared? You're so tense."

She shook her head. "Not scared. Nervous maybe. I'm not exactly a born flirt."

"I know." He smiled. "It's one of the things I love about you. So just talk to him like you would to any young man. Don't overdo it. You'll be fine, I'm sure."

He finished the job in mutual silence, and then sat back on his heels to view the result. "It's not you – it's a piece of art," he observed. "But a lovely piece of art you are..."

Maryse picked up the small handmirror – and her jaw dropped at the sight of her reflection. Mysterious, exotic, excessively beautiful... Looking back at her from the mirror was the kind of seductive young lady that would win a beauty pageant in America. Was this really _her_ – thirty-plus year old Maryse Gotthardt from Duisburg?

Then perhaps those girls in the beauty contests had rather plain faces, too, and were merely '_made_' beautiful by a make-up artist?

"Like it?" Karl asked.

She nodded, and shook her head – and nodded again. "It's beautiful. But as you said, it's not me. It'll be rather awkward to go around looking like this, I think. As if my face doesn't match _me_."

He smiled. "You'll get used to it. And I promise you it will be easier than you think. People will treat you based on what they see, and your reactions will almost automatically adapt to their approach. So..." He got up and extended his hand to her. "Shall we go, my dear sister?"

* * *

Karl recalled how apprehensive _he_ had been that first time he had walked through his hometown dressed as Katinka Kordeva. And how Peter's continuous advice and reassurances that everything would be fine only had made him more nervous – right until the moment the curtain rose as they entered the café.

So instead of pushing it with Maryse (who was far less of a natural actor to begin with), he just left her to her own thoughts as they walked along the narrow streets of the town center, and limited his reassuring her to an occasional wink or a squeeze of her hand.

She sure did attract attention though. Heads turned, men stared, women appraised her... And when some officer even tipped his hat for her, she finally found her smile.

"That's the spirit," Karl whispered. "And there is the Hofbrau. Are you ready, Tatiana?"

She took a deep breath. "I hope so."

"Then go get him!" He pushed open the door and let her enter first.

There was not an eye in the room that did not instantly turn to her, and Maryse felt a fiery blush creeping up to her cheeks under the layers of make-up. Suddenly she felt terribly awkward in this glamorous charade, and wooden and uncertain under all this attention, and she was sure she was going to trip or wrench her ankle or...

But there was Karl's hand at her elbow, casually guiding her to the back of the room where the disguised Udo raised his hand.

Udo stood when they approached his table. "Herr Bülow. Fräulein," he bowed formally, as if they hadn't parted less than an hour ago.

"Herr Elsner," Maryse said quietly in return as she made a slight curtsey, and she extended her hand to him as she had seen the grand ladies in the movies do.

Udo pressed a gallant kiss on it, and couldn't keep his eyes off her as Karl took her (his) fur cape and pulled out a chair for her to sit.

"You look absolutely wonderful tonight, Fräulein," Udo said with clear admiration in his voice.

"Thank you, Herr Elsner." Maryse folded her hands on the table and furtively looked around. It was around dinnertime, and quite a few tables were occupied. "So who is it?"

"He's not here yet."

"_What_? You mean we...?"

"Calm down – it's still early," Karl admonished her.

"Easy for you to say," she hissed. "I had myself all worked up to have a go at him – and now he's not here?"

"We'll just be ordinary customers and have some dinner first."

"I didn't bring my ration book. But I don't think I could eat anyway."

"Are you sure? I can cover for your rations – no problem."

"Thanks, but my stomach is one big knot. I'm sure I couldn't eat a bite anyway."

So the two men ordered, and while Maryse filched some small bits and pieces from their plates after all, Herr Bülow and Herr Elsner kept up a lively conversation about – of all things – cars. She had no idea either of them was so knowledgeable on the subject – or were they? But boring it certainly was, and it made Udo's sudden nudge, "There he is!" all the more welcome.

Maryse (or Tatiana) followed the young man with her eyes as he made his way to one of the empty tables by the wall. An old man stopped him for a moment, and their talk ended in a hearty laugh before the mystery man continued towards the table he had chosen for tonight.

She turned a bit in her chair to have a better view of him. And found he was actually rather cute. Mid twenties by the looks of it, with a pleasant, open face and a ready smile.

She waited till he had placed his order with the waitress, and then she slowly rose to her feet.

Immediately all the eyes in the room were upon her again, but now that her task was tangible, she saw only one man.

And he saw her, too...

With slightly swinging hips she approached his table, and struck the provocative pose Karl had taught her. "Hello gorgeous."

The mystery man quickly let his eyes wander from her top to toe and back before replying, "Hello gorgeous yourself."

Maryse fluttered her eyelashes at him, but it felt totally unnatural, so she quickly amended it with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you with those guys over there?"

A careless wave. "Just my brother and his associate." She rolled her eyes and gracefully sat down across from him without a real invitation. "They've been talking business all night. And business is _so_ boring..."

He flashed her a smile. "You're so right."

So far his German was perfect. Perhaps if she'd draw him out a bit more...? He really looked way too nice to be linked to the Gestapo. "So what brings you to town?"

A grin was her reply. "Business."

She sighed with exaggerated suffering. "_Men_... All they talk about is business... Business and war and cars!"

He rested his elbows on the table and whispered conspirationally, "I wouldn't mind talking about something else with you, Fräulein...?"

"Tatiana," Maryse supplied. "Tatiana Bülow. And the one with that awful orange tie over there is my brother – Louis. And you are...?"

"Tappert," the mystery man said. "Hugo Tappert, at your service, Fräulein."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Herr Tappert," she murmured formally.

"Likewise." He half stood and bowed for her.

After that, they both were silent for a while. It was obvious that Herr Tappert was feasting on her fake features. But no matter _what_ Karl said, she was simply not accustomed to such attention, and she found his overt interest in her rather disconcerting. True – she could really bask herself in Karl looking at her like that. But a total stranger? Was that something the real pretty girls had to put up with all the time?

So she shyly looked away, doing her best to make it look like aloofness.

But her task was to get him to talk, so... "Could it be that I've seen you here before?"

He shook his head. "Impossible. Someone as pretty as you... I would have remembered."

"But you do come here more often, don't you? I saw you greet that old man when you came in."

He shrugged. "An old friend. I'm a travelling salesman – I've got friends and acquaintances in every town in this area."

She played a bit with her bracelet, then picked up a beerspill and twirled it between her fingers. "Girl-friends, too, I suppose? A good-looking guy like you..."

He grinned. "I've been saving myself for someone real special."

She raised her eyebrows in fake ignorance. "Who might that be?" This was finally becoming a little easier.

"Someone like you, for example," he replied.

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "My brother would never allow it. He lets me _talk_ to men – but no more than that. Unless..." She shrugged, and glanced back at Karl and Udo. "Unless I can get a business deal out of it of course." She gave him an innocent look. "So what is your business?"

"Pencils," he deadpanned.

"_Pencils_?" She shook her head. "Peanuts. My brother is in cars. Now that's _real_ business. One sale and you're comfortably off for months." But she was quickly running out of inspiration here, so she made the sign for Karl to come and rescue her: tugging her hair behind her ears.

He was at her side before Herr Tappert had even concluded his counterargument about selling pencils.

"Tatiana, is this man bothering you?"

"Louis! What are you doing? This is none of your business!" This part at least had been properly rehearsed...

"It _is_ my business. I will not have my sister being trifled with by some shady stranger. Come." He took her by the arm and forced her to get up.

"Sorry. Nice talking to you," Maryse still said over her shoulder to Herr Tappert as she was dragged back to her own table.

"Keep it up a little longer – people are watching," Karl hissed as he dropped her unceremoniously on her chair.

So instead of heaving the sigh of relief that begged to be released, she pouted. "I'll never find a husband if you keep dragging me away from men."

"You don't _need_ a husband – you've got me," he retorted.

"That's not the same."

They kept up the brother-sister bickering for quite a while, occasionally with Herr Elsner adding his two cents as well. But hand over hand it petered out, and once their volume was down far enough not to attract attention anymore, Karl whispered, "What did you find out?"

"He says his name is Hugo Tappert, a travelling salesman in pencils – though I'm not sure if he was serious about those pencils. His German is flawless, with a strong Düsseldorf accent. And the German way of introducing oneself comes entirely natural to him. I'm fairly sure he _is_ German."

Udo and Oskar exchanged a glance.

"Plan B?"

"Plan B."

Udo disappeared to make a phonecall, and when it looked like Herr Tappert was nearly done with his meal, Herr Bülow asked for the check, and a few minutes later they stood outside in the quickly cooling evening.

"There's Hasso." Karl nodded to the trees at the shorter side of the square, where their friend the miller was waiting in the car. "You know what to do, sis."

Maryse nodded. "But you two be careful, okay?"

A few minutes later she sat in the front seat next to the driver, and Udo and Oskar had taken up their respective places in the shadows close to the Hofbrau. The waiting game could start...

* * *

It was around the same hour as last time – shortly after dark – that the mystery man left the tavern.

But this time, Oskar and Udo were immediately on his heels. "Herr Tappert, I believe?" Oskar inquired with a threatening edge to his voice.

The man made a move as to turn around, but the sudden sensation of a revolver pressing against his back clearly made him reconsider.

"Good. Now if you would be so kind as to come with us for a moment? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Herr Tappert didn't say a word, but obediently went as he was directed. Until they were in the shadow of the trees, when... A sudden turn, a fist connecting with his assailant's jaw, a gun scattering over the cobblestones... And a soundless sigh as Udo hit him over the head with his gun.

"Oof..." Oskar picked up his revolver and quickly bent over their fallen hostage. "Is he out?"

"I think so."

"Quick then."

Together they carried the young man the last few meters to the waiting car, and manoeuvered their unconscious prisoner onto the back seat. They both took their place on either side of him, and off they went, blindfolding and tying him on the way.

Hasso deliberately made a bit of a detour, but in the end he stopped by the windmill. "I'll get him," he said, and under the watchful eyes of his comrades, he threw Herr Tappert over his shoulder and carried him into the woodshed.

He was placed on a straight-backed chair and – unconscious or not – held at gunpoint as they freed his hands and tied them again behind the back of the chair. A thorough body-search produced a small gun, a pocket-knife, and papers in the name of Hugo Anton Tappert that, according to Oskar, looked real enough to leave open the option of them being fake.

Udo had lit the paraffinlamp in the corner, making sure to keep the light low so it wouldn't give away human presence in the shed, and in the half-light the three men studied their sagging prisoner.

"I hope I didn't hit him _too_ hard," Udo muttered with a hint of worry in his voice.

"He'll be alright," Oskar assured him. "He might well be faking it now, to learn as much about us as he can. So..."

Udo nodded. '_No talking_', was his motto tonight. For unlike Oskar, he wasn't very adept at disguising his voice, and they certainly couldn't risk this so-called POW to recognize the voice of one of the guards.

"He's a feisty one," Hasso agreed. "Maybe we should tie his ankles to the legs of the chair, too. To avoid him pulling a stunt like the one he did back there."

Oskar nodded, and once that was taken care of, Hasso took his leave. "Good luck with him. I'll go and get the lady home. You guys just shout if there's trouble, okay?"

Once Hasso had left, Oskar removed the mystery man's blindfold. After all, he had already seen them at the Hofbrau, and soon the man began to show signs of coming around. A few moans, a few vigorous shakes of the head, a jerk as he realized he was tied to something, and Herr Tappert opened his eyes.

"Guten Abend, Herr Tappert," Oskar drawled. "I'm sorry we had to knock you out, but we really wanted to talk to you in private."

The guy gave him a blurred look. "What... About your sister? I didn't even touch her – honest!"

"Good for you, but that's not what we want to talk about."

"What then?"

Oskar leaned in on him. "We'd like to ask you a few things about your business with Stalag 13."

The prisoner raised his eyebrows. "Stalag 13? Where is that? Oh, wait... Isn't that the prison-camp just outside town here?"

"Exactly. We know that you belong there, and yet you _don't_ belong there. Do I make myself clear?"

"Not really," the guy muttered.

"Then let me spell it out for you." Oskar began to circle him – slowly, like a beast of prey. "Witnesses have seen you leaving the camp and going back _into_ the camp through the wire. And without being bothered by the guards. And we would like to know: what is a German civilian doing, posing as an Allied prisoner-of-war, and going in and out of the local prison-camp several times a week?"

* * *

.

_Author's note: And with this, my dear readers, unfortunately the publishing has caught up with my writing: the next chapter is only halfway! Still, I hope we'll soon be able to continue, to see whether our friend Olsen will be able to convince Karl he's one of the good guys instead! _


	26. Hogan

The would-be prisoner-of-war shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. Don't give me that nonsense, will you? We know you pose as a prisoner in Stalag 13. That'd be odd enough in itself, but you're also walking around town and meeting friends as if you've lived here all your life. So clearly you are _not_ a prisoner-of-war – you're a native German. And then you go back to the prison out of your own free will. A little too many oddities, don't you think? So what is your game?"

The guy sighed. "Look, I'm sure you've got me mixed up with someone else. So why don't you let me go and we'll just forget this... this misunderstanding."

Oskar shook his head. "Sorry, pal. No mix-up. We followed you from the Hofbrau back to camp the other night, so it's no use denying."

Their mystery man contemplated this. "And what's _your_ angle in this?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you think I'm an escaped prisoner, the logical thing for you to do was to turn me in. Or to take me back to camp yourselves. But you brought me here instead. Why?"

"You're no escaped prisoner. An escaped prisoner would want to get out of here as fast as possible. He wouldn't stop at the Hofbrau for dinner and a chat with his friends – if he had any around here in the first place. And he certainly wouldn't return to his prison out of his own free will."

The man had an impudent grin. "Oh yes, he would. Have you ever tasted the food in that camp? Believe me – if you were a prisoner there, you'd take every opportunity to go and have dinner at the Hofbrau!"

"But you're no prisoner – you're German," Oskar stated with deadly finality.

Herr Tappert's face opened up in disbelief. "Noooo... Whatever gave you that idea?"

Oskar rolled his eyes. "Don't be coy with me, Herr Tappert – or whatever your name is. Anyone within a 100 kilometer radius will immediately recognize your accent as Düsseldorfian. You're no Allied prisoner – you're a native German."

Herr Tappert gave him a textbook version of a puppy-dog look. "Then why did you grab me?"

"I told you: to find out what your game is in going in and out of the prison-camp. So why _do_ you do it?"

The man shrugged. "For fun?"

"Very funny."

"Well, it's certainly fun to fool the guards."

Oskar shook his head. "Really – even my grandmother could come up with a more plausible reason. Now tell me: why do you pretend to be an Allied prisoner? Who are you working for?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the man muttered.

"But I'm asking _you_."

A sigh. "Look – why don't you just drop me off in the prison-camp and have this over and done with?"

"And then you simply go back to your game, coming and going from the camp? No way. Not unless you tell me why."

"Why should I? What business is it of yours anyway?"

"Well, you can tell _me_, or you can tell the Gestapo. Whatever you prefer."

Herr Tappert's eyes narrowed. "Since when is it a crime to escape _into_ a prison?"

"So why don't you quit beating around the bush and tell me."

A defiant glare was all he got.

"All I'm asking for is a sensible explanation for your odd behaviour. You give me one, and I may very well let you go. But if you don't give me one, I'll be forced to conclude that your actions can't bear the light of day, which means it'd be my duty as a German citizen to turn you over to the authorities. So what will it be?"

No reaction, and after a while, Oskar resumed his circling of their prey again. It had a tendency to make people nervous, he knew, and now that Herr Tappert was beginning to refuse to answer...

But the guy remained as cool as a cucumber – yet another hint that he must have been trained in such tactics. And who else but a dyed-in-the-wool villain would be trained to withstand intimidation techniques?

It did mean of course that this could become a long battle. But at least as long as they held him here, he couldn't do much damage as a Gestapo spy in the camp, and this Colonel Hogan would be safe.

They could of course turn him over to the Gestapo right now. The Gestapo certainly had its useful sides if you knew how to exploit them, and it was generally known that they wouldn't hesitate to arrest their very own people if appearances happened to be against them. And such was fairly easily arranged.

But he'd rather know what the guy was up to before turning him in. For if the Gestapo or whatever agency he worked for were so interested in this American colonel, they were bound to send in another informer once Tappert was out of the way. And as long as they didn't have a clue as to what the Nazis or the army wanted from the American colonel, there was little they could do to help protect the man.

The night dragged on – often in silence, interspersed with more question-and-answer exchanges that got them nowhere.

"What time is it?" Udo mouthed when Oskar slowly came walking in his direction again.

Oskar glanced at his watch. "Twenty past three."

"He's awfully stubborn, isn't he."

Oskar grimaced, and opened his mouth to respond...

... when suddenly the door of the woodshed was kicked open with a clang and a calm voice ordered, "Hände hoch."

In a reflex, Oskar spun around and trained his gun on the black-clad intruder instead – but not without hearing his friend gasp, "Colonel Hogan!"

Colonel _Hogan_? ! ?

Before he had quite processed the thought what the heck the American officer from the camp was doing here, the man raised an eyebrow and said – in an utterly laid-back fashion – , "So you know me, huh? Well, that saves us one round of introductions." He gestured for his companion – a black man (_the_ black man from the camp perhaps?) – to close the door behind them.

With the American colonel training his gun on them, and Oskar keeping the two intruders covered with poor Herr Tappert caught in the middle, the atmosphere was close to boiling point. But Karl ventured nonetheless, "Are you trying to escape?" Perhaps he needed help...?

But, "Not really," was the slow reply. "We came in search of our friend here."

Karl gasped in shock as the truth hit him. For if the American colonel was a _friend_ of that spy Tappert...! "_You're_ Gestapo, too?" Of course – his perfect Berlin accent, being out of camp but not escaping... Oh God, what had they gotten themselves into?

He heard Udo's ragged breathing behind him – or was it his own? And Tappert's surprised exclamation, "Gestapo?" And the Colonel's calm, "Don't worry, we're not from the Gestapo. And neither are you, I gather."

"I don't believe you." This war was turning totally crazy. Wasn't _anybody_ who he was supposed to be? What with Tappert's highly suspicious behaviour, and this American colonel being a friend of his... And now they had _another_ so-called prisoner outside the camp who spoke German like a native and claimed he was _not_ escaping...?

He grabbed his gun with both hands to steady his aim. He was totally at a loss now as to what was going on here – but there was no doubt they were caught right in the middle of it, and things did _not_ look good. _Oh God, please...! _Please_ don't force me to shoot another man...!_

"Look." The tall black man behind the treacherous colonel stepped forward and held out his empty hands. "I'm with _him_. Do I look like Gestapo material?" And _he_ spoke perfect German, too! What was this war coming to?

Karl's eyes darted back and forth between the treacherous colonel and the calm black man. He felt like a deer caught in two sets of headlights – almost too scared to think. But there was something about the black man that... "No," he croaked out. "I suppose _you're_ not Gestapo."

"And I assure you, neither are my friends here." A pause, in which Karl's eyes darted back to the American colonel again. For if he was not Gestapo – then what was he? And Tappert?

"Take it easy now," the black man continued in an almost soothing tone. "We're not here to harm you, so let's put away those guns."

The American colonel glanced at his black helper, but did set the example by putting his revolver in his belt and showing them his empty hands. Amazing how he simply did what the black man said...

And Karl wavered. Technically he had the upper hand now, but things had developed so totally beyond his grasp... "So what are you? What's going on here?"

"We're in the escape business. We help prisoners escape," the American colonel replied.

"By having them go back to the prison-camp every time? That's insane. I don't believe you." Karl tightened his grip on the gun.

"Colonel, perhaps you should let me handle this," the black man spoke softly, and in English.

He got a curt nod from his superior officer in black, and the black man held out his hands again. "We are not Gestapo. We are Allied soldiers who are secretly stationed at Stalag 13. Our orders are to help other prisoners escape, and to sabotage the German war effort as much as we can."

"From a prison-camp?" Karl shook his head. "Impossible. That's crazy."

"I know. And as long as the Nazis think it's impossible and crazy, too, it's the perfect cover."

Never taking his eyes off the black man, Karl mulled that over. Contrary to that shifty colonel, he found it difficult to distrust the black man. He had an air of such quiet integrity about him, that...

"And seeing how scared you two are of the Gestapo," the black man continued softly, "I would be very much surprised if you were _not_ on the same side as we are. Fighting _against_ the Nazis. Am I correct?"

Almost against his will, Karl nodded, followed by Udo.

"So why don't you put away that gun now. We're fighting for the same cause. We're not going to hurt you."

Slowly, still wary, Karl lowered his hand – but he didn't put the gun away. "And what about him?" he asked with a nod to the still tied-up Tappert. "He's German, isn't he? And he's been in and out of the camp several times these past weeks."

Tappert glanced at the Colonel, and at his approving nod he finally explained his odd behaviour. "I'm not German – I'm American. But I grew up in Düsseldorf, where my father worked at the American consulate. So that's why I speak German fluently. With a Düsseldorf accent to boot."

Of course – why hadn't they thought of that possibility? Maryse's English... "And why do you keep going back to the camp? Don't _you_ want to escape?"

"I can't. Like he said, we're stationed here. It's our job to help _others_ escape. But _we _have to stay put, to make sure the operation keeps rolling."

Karl let that sink in for a moment. The whole idea was still crazy as far as he was concerned. But if – as the black man had pointed out – the Nazis thought so, too...

"One of his tasks," the black man picked up, "Is to try and make contact with people outside the camp. People who don't agree with the Führer's ideologies, and are willing to help escaping prisoners along on their way back to England. I guess you could say he was lucky today, in that _you_ found _him_ instead of the other way around."

Oskar and Udo exchanged a glance. Apparently they weren't the only ones to have come up with the idea of helping escaped prisoners to get back to England.

"Do you think you might be able to help us, too?" The black man's question was tentative – as if he wanted to give them every opportunity to turn down the request.

Oskar's eyes went from the black man to 'Herr Tappert', and to Colonel Hogan. "Maybe," was his equally tentative answer. It would fit in perfectly with what they usually did in helping people to get away, but still... "How do we know this is not a trap?"

The American colonel sighed. "Look, I know the times are such that one can't blindly trust a stranger. But you've already come to the conclusion yourself that my black friend here couldn't possibly be Gestapo. So why should _we_ be Gestapo? We _need _the help from people like you – people outside the camp who are willing to oppose the Nazis. And since you already admitted you're fighting them, too, wouldn't it be more effective if we'd work together?" A pause. "And I promise you, you won't have to tell us any more about what you do than what you're comfortable with. The less we know about each other, the less we can betray. But that doesn't mean we can't work together to fight that devil in Berlin."

Another silence as Karl carefully considered his options. The fact of the matter was of course, that if this really _was_ a trap, Udo and he were already in way over their heads. But if these guys were genuine (and the black man certainly seemed to be), he could easily see a million things they could do to help them. So perhaps...

"Perhaps we should show them our operation, Colonel," the black man suggested to his superior officer. "That should convince them that we're not working for the Nazis."

Colonel Hogan nodded, and Karl looked questioningly from one to the other. "What operation?"

Turning back to him, the black man explained, "Our set-up back at the camp. We're building everything we need there – underground of course. A radio that can reach London, a printing press, a varied stack of uniforms, a dark room with photographic equipment..."

Underground? Karl's curiosity was instantly peaked, and judging by the hastily swallowed sound behind him, so was Udo's.

"Alright," he said slowly. "I'll come with you. And if what you show me convinces me that you're genuine in your fight against the Nazis, you can count on us to help you whenever we're able to. But..." He nodded at the American-German still tied to the chair. "_He_ stays here. If I come back safely, he'll be free to go." After all, if they were willing to take the risk of going out of camp at night to search for this guy, he must be pretty important to them. Too important to try anything with _him_ in return.

"A little insurance, huh? Alright," the Colonel agreed. "But we better get moving then. We'd prefer to have him back in camp by roll call. Saves us some trouble."

Karl nodded and turned to his friend. "Will you be alright with him?" he asked under his breath.

Udo nodded.

"And remember tonight's motto, okay? These guys are sharp – we can't risk it."

Another nod, and Danzig was ready to go.

As he had expected, the two American 'prisoners' took a pretty much straight route cross country to the camp. In fact, they passed pretty close by his house.

But nothing was said on the way – too dangerous with possible patrols lurking in the woods at a time when civilians were supposed to be in their beds, or at least inside the house. And certainly prisoners were supposed to be in their prison-camp...

And there it was, lit up brightly in the dark of blacked-out Germany.

The two Americans squatted down behind some bushes, and Karl followed their example. They were some twenty meters from the fence, and he could clearly see one of the guards patrolling with a fierce looking German shepherd. But they weren't anywhere near the place where you could raise the fence. Or would the camp have more secret entrances?

"I'm afraid we're going to have to blindfold you now," Colonel Hogan whispered. "For the same goes for you: what you don't know, you can't spill."

Karl opened his mouth to say that he already knew about the fence, but with the blindfold already covering his eyes, he decided he might as well play along. It was a giant leap of faith, but if they were ever to work together, they had to start trusting each other _somewhere_. They had already entrusted _him_ with the information about their escape business – now it was his turn to learn to trust them in return.

He was pulled upright, and two hands guided him what seemed to be further to the right.

"Get down!" Colonel Hogan hissed.

For a few moments they hovered low by the ground – then he was pulled up again. "Quick! Raise your leg high and find the rungs of the ladder. Kinch will guide your foot there."

A ladder? He did as he was told, and felt someone take hold of his foot and place it on a narrow surface that could be a ladder. The other foot came logically beside it, and sensing the other man just below him, he carefully began to descend into... into what? Underground, they had said, but...?

And there was the bottom – sand by the feeling of it.

He was pulled aside a little, and he heard someone else coming down the ladder and jumping down the last bit. And then his blindfold was pulled away, and as he stepped into his line of sight, Colonel Hogan grinned, "Welcome to our underground department." There was a hint of pride in his voice, and looking around, Karl could easily see why. The tunnel's ceiling was high enough for a grown man to go upright without feeling the urge to duck, and the rough sandy walls were far enough apart to allow two people to walk together.

"Wow," he breathed. "When you said it was underground, I envisioned something narrow and low – of crawling height. But this...!"

"That's the size of an escape tunnel. But we don't dig tunnels to escape – we work here," Colonel Hogan explained. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Karl followed him through the sparsely lit tunnel, with the black man taking the rear. It was hard to estimate the distance, but it was quite a walk before they came to a better lit room. A room full of radio equipment, with a man with headphones on sitting on duty in the midst of it.

"LeBeau and Newkirk back yet?" the Colonel inquired with him.

The man at the radio shook his head, and Colonel Hogan turned back to him. "This is our radioroom. Our radio has quite a good range: we can talk to a submarine in the North Sea, and with them as an intermediate, we communicate with our headquarters in London. But we're working on a better antenna. It'd be easier if we could communicate with London directly."

Karl was visibly impressed. "Where did you get all this equipment? Or did you bring that with you when you got stationed here? No," he corrected himself. "That's hardly possible. The guards would have taken it before you were brought here."

Colonel Hogan nodded. "We get regular supply drops from London. And..."

"In the camp?" Karl half exclaimed in surprise.

"No, outside in the woods. So we go out of camp at night to pick them up."

"And they never catch you?"

Colonel Hogan chuckled. "Only when we want them to." And the black man grinned at him.

"But..." Karl frowned as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Surely the Kommandant of this place must be in on it, too, then. Isn't he?"

"Nope. Well, sort of," the Colonel immediately amended his instinctive denial. "Of course he doesn't know it, but without him, we wouldn't be able to function properly. A little flattery and a lot of manipulation go a long way with Kommandant Klink – we can get him to do exactly what we want. In fact, he's a great asset to the Allied war effort."

"And so is Schultz, our barracks guard," the black man added.

Another chuckle from Colonel Hogan. "It took some time, but we've trained him to '_see nothing, hear nothing and know nothing_'. He adheres strictly to it – if only because it'd be his neck, too, if they'd ever find out what's been going on here right under their noses."

"Oh boy." Karl couldn't help laughing. "And the other guards – have you trained them, too?" Udo had never said anything about _that_.

"Nah. Not really. We've checked them out of course, and any guard _we_ don't like gets transferred out. The bunch we have left either follows Schultz's lead, or they're too stupid to question what's going on around them."

If Udo heard that... Colonel Hogan definitely had a marvellous set-up here. But if he didn't keep his overconfidence in check, his underestimating the enemy would soon end in disaster...

He looked around. There were about half a dozen more dark openings in all directions. More tunnels? Other rooms?

Colonel Hogan followed his gaze. "Yeah, we intend to have a tunnel connection to every important building in the camp, including every barracks. Just in case, you know. At the moment..." – he gestured to the right – "...we're working on a tunnel to the Kommandant's private quarters. Should come in handy one day."

He led the way into one of the other openings. "And this is our printing room, where we print anything from pamphlets to Gestapo orders, and from ID cards to money." He picked up a batch of Reichsmark notes and let it rustle under Karl's nose. "Practically indistinguishable from the real stuff. It comes in handy when you have to bribe people who don't deserve to get rewarded."

Karl peered at them. "Can I see?"

"Sure." The Colonel held out the whole handful to him, but he took only one banknote and held it up in the light of the oil-lamp.

"Are you an expert perhaps?" the black man asked with obvious interest.

Karl shook his head. "No more than your average German citizen. I just wanted to see if I could notice the difference. But I can't." He handed back the note, and said, "Alright, I believe you. What can we do to help you?"

Colonel Hogan raised his eyebrows. "You believe us because of the fake money?"

"No, because of all these tunnels. There is absolutely no point whatsoever for the Nazis to set up a vast tunnelsystem like this under a prison-camp. Though I still don't understand how having a prisoner escape and then go back into the camp helps the other prisoners to escape."

Colonel Hogan grinned. "We'll get to that. Now let's see..."

* * *

It was about half an hour before roll call when Olsen returned – through the emergency tunnel this time. He found Hogan and Kinch in the radioroom. "Hi guys. I'm back."

"Are you alright?" Hogan inquired.

"Yeah, sure." He chuckled. "They fell all over themselves apologizing for holding me hostage all night. It turns out they thought I was a Gestapo spy, planted in the camp to pry military secrets out of you."

"Yes, he told me." Hogan shook his head. "Still, considering how much they _did_ find out about your comings and goings, I think we may count ourselves very lucky that they are on _our_ side. Which means _you_ will have to be a whole lot more careful when you go out, understood?"

Olsen nodded. "I had already figured that, yes. What draws their attention, can draw the attention of the Gestapo as well."

"Exactly. So keep that in mind, okay?"

Another nod. "I will."

"Okay, then let's compare notes. We still have the mystery of these guys recognizing me."

Kinch shook his head. "I don't think we can assume that they _both_ recognized you on sight, sir. The other one – the silent one – certainly did. But the guy who came back here with us may simply have heard of you from his friend."

Hogan nodded. "That's true."

"He's probably one of the guards," Olsen suggested.

"That's the most likely explanation, yes," Hogan agreed. "The question is: which one? I wasn't aware that we _had_ any guards with connections in the underground?"

Kinch cleared his throat. "If I may, Colonel?"

"Sure. By all means."

"When we were in that woodshed, I got a gut feeling that the guy who recognized you was Private Steinmetz. I know he didn't look anything like him, but something about him reminded me of him."

"Steinmetz? You mean the guy with the limp?"

"Yes. And it would fit in with his known behaviour of leaving wirecutters and digging tools around the camp."

"But he didn't have a limp!" Olsen protested.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. They both walked perfectly normal."

"Hm." Hogan stroked his chin. "We'll have to look into that. And the other guy, this Oskar Danzig..."

"Oskar _Danzig_?" Olsen interrupted him.

Hogan grinned. "What – you've heard of him, too?"

"Of course I have! The greatest female impersonator in the history of mankind!" He chuckled as a fond memory surfaced. "He was playing in a hotel in Düsseldorf when I was what – fifteen, sixteen? And my friend and I sneaked in there one night to see the show. Without paying of course."

Hogan nodded. "I've seen him, too. In Berlin. I remember he was so convincing that I seriously wondered if he really was a guy."

"Well, now you know. But he didn't seem too pleased that you remembered him though," Kinch pointed out.

"No. That's true. Well, we better leave the past the past then, and treat him for what he is now – a possibly valuable ally." He grimaced. "Who at least has promised not to blow up any more munition trains in our faces."

"So that was him, huh? Glad that mystery is solved." Olsen chuckled. "I've got to say I'm impressed though. Some group they have – a worldfamous impersonator, and on top of that a girl so gorgeous you wouldn't believe it..."

Kinch raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that girl wasn't Danzig himself – in disguise?"

If looks could kill...

* * *

.

_Author's note: As you may have noticed, I'm using some bits and pieces from Olsen's background as outlined in Snooky's stories about _The Outside Man_, as well as some bits and pieces from Hogan's background as given in GSJessica's _Master Manipulator_ story. _

_By the way, did you notice that Hogan himself pointed out to Danzig which tunnel to take a few years later, when he was going to kidnap 'Hitler'? _;-)_  
_


	27. Guard

"You're very quiet tonight."

"Mm..." He just put his arm a little tighter around her.

She raised her head from his shoulder to look at his face. But so up close, with her nose practically touching his jaw, she just couldn't resist the temptation of pressing a sweet little kiss on the smooth skin in front of her.

He smiled and turned his head to look his girl-friend in the eye.

"Tired?" she probed.

Carefully, mindful not to collide with hers, he shook his head. "Just thinking." He watched as her eyes studied his face – sometimes he got the impression that even after all these years, she was still searching for the features with which she had originally gotten to know him. "Why – is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really." She sighed, and nestled up to the curve of his neck again. "I just love lying in your arms like this. And I'd wish we could have evenings like this more often, that's all."

After a moment, she felt a soft nuzzle in her hair, and then a kiss. It seemed to be an awfully melancholy one, and in return, she pulled his arms even closer around her. Karl – her dear, dear Karl... How much longer would they have to wait?

She was well aware of the reasons why they shouldn't get married under the circumstances. She understood those reasons, and agreed with the decision to wait. But sometimes, she almost – _almost_ – prayed that if God for some reason couldn't bring this horrid war to an end yet, that at least he'd let something happen that would force Karl to flee the country. To Switzerland or something, or maybe to England. And she'd follow (or better still, go with him right away), and there, far away from the clutches of the SS and the Gestapo, they would finally be free to marry and live their happily ever after together in peace.

Karl didn't talk about these things much. Perhaps it was his way of focussing his mind on the tasks at hand – tasks that without exception could get him killed.

But she needed the dreams. The dreams – and the memories. Memories of evenings like this. For she was painfully aware that there was every chance that when all was said and done, dreams and memories would be all she'd have left.

As usual when her conscious thoughts reached that point, tears suddenly stung behind her eyes, and she quickly turned to hide her face in the lapel of his jacket.

He didn't even ask what was wrong. He'd seen this reaction so often – by now he knew exactly what was going through her mind. So he merely rubbed her back a little, and after a short silence he said, "You know, I've been thinking about this. And what goes for Udo, goes for me, too."

She pushed herself up with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"The army." He sighed. "The way things are going, they're going to need more and more men. So sooner or later, they're bound to get me, too, no matter what excuses I come up with. And I refuse to get killed in some pointless battle like my father did. More so since I'd have to fight for something I've been fighting _against_ for so long."

It took but a moment for Maryse to make the connection. "You want to try and volunteer as a guard in the prison camp."

He shrugged a little. "It's a Luftwaffe camp, and I'm a Luftwaffe soldier 'unfit' for regular duties. It makes sense, doesn't it?" He stroked her hair behind her ear. "But I admit I have a secondary objective: to keep an eye on that Colonel Hogan. From what I've seen, the man is absolutely brilliant, but he's so confident in his abilities that he gravely underestimates what he's up against. If I can keep him under surveillance, at least I might have a chance of deflecting disaster for him."

Maryse studied his calm, almost resigned expression. "He impressed you, didn't he." It wasn't even a question.

Karl nodded. "To the point that I even started to question the continuation of our own work. They've got so much expertise, so much training, so many people... And one word to London and they can get anything they need. For a while there, I seriously considered becoming an auxiliary team for them – sort of an outside assistance team."

"But?"

"In some things – like sabotage – I think we should. They simply have the superior material for it, and possibly even superior information. But as soldiers under orders, their main goal is to rescue Allied flyers and help escaping POWs to return to England. Helping civilians is not included in those orders, and that's something _we've_ done a lot. So maybe we should concentrate on that part from now on. That way we can complement Colonel Hogan's work, instead of getting in each other's way like we did with that munitions train last week."

Maryse nodded thoughtfully. "You're probably right. And of course you're going to have your freedom severely curtailed if you're becoming a guard, so you couldn't continue on full steam anyway. Just look at how much Udo has had to miss out on this past year."

"Oh, that shouldn't be so bad. I should be able to get time off whenever I want." He chuckled. "If only by faking an asthma attack."

She hit him playfully in the chest. "You're the worst hypochondriac I've ever seen."

A grin. "And proud of it, too! No," he continued. "My main worry in this scheme is Udo. I'd really rather _not_ have him know that Danzig and I are one and the same. But that means I'm going to have to be two different people for him. That could get tricky."

Maryse frowned. "Couldn't you become a guard under another identity?"

He shook his head. "That'd be really complicated with the paperwork. Besides, it would defeat the object: then they'd still be after Karl Langenscheidt."

"And if you pretend you don't know him? Udo, I mean?"

"I can try, but I doubt it will hold up in the long term. Who doesn't recall his best friends from childhood?"

* * *

"Karl? Karl Langenscheidt, is that really you? What in the world are _you_ doing here?"

"Guarding prisoners, I suppose." Karl sighed inwardly. The planned strategy of simply staying out of Udo's way couldn't hold up for ten seconds against Schultz getting Private Steinmetz to show him around and introducing them in the process.

Schultz looked in surprise from one to the other. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, we used to play together a lot when we were kids." But suddenly awareness clamped down on Udo's enthusiasm. This was Nazi Germany after all, and there was no way of knowing where his childhood companion's loyalties lay.

Schultz didn't seem to notice. "Ach, that is nice. Then you two will have a lot to talk about, nicht wahr? So why don't you show your friend around the camp and make sure that he knows everything he needs to know?"

"Jawohl, Sergeant."

"And have him report to Fräulein Helga in the office no later than nine o'clock. There is a lot of paperwork to catch up on," he explained to the new guard. "You can start today by typing up reports. Fräulein Helga will tell you what to do."

"J... jawohl, Sergeant." A nervous salute.

"Good. I'll see you later then." With a friendly nod Schultz waddled off, leaving the two erstwhile friends in the awkward embarrassment that comes with nearly twenty years of no contact.

The air was thick with tense silence as they both studiously avoided to look at each other.

"Hi," Karl ventured at last.

"Hi," Udo echoed, still looking away from his old playmate.

Silence.

"So how've you been?"

"Okay. How about you?"

"Fine."

Silence.

Karl gulped; Udo glanced at him, and averted his eyes again.

"How come you're a corporal? Have you been at the front?"

A shake of the head. "I got promoted on account of technical expertise."

Udo smiled a little, as if enjoying a little private joke. It emboldened Karl to ask after his military experiences.

"How about you – have you been at the front?"

A shrug. "I'm not much use as a regular soldier. Didn't you notice the way I walk when the Sergeant called me?"

Karl nodded. "So what happened?"

"Got my leg shattered in an accident a few years ago."

"Ah." Karl grinned inwardly. Apparently, Udo had moved on from the 'official' story of falling down the stairs. 'Shattered in an accident' sure sounded more impressive, that was true. And accidentally, it was closer to the truth as well.

Another spell of awkward silence separated them. And Karl felt bad for leaving his best friend in the dark. A few lines of explanation from him would have been enough to cut through this awkward stalemate, showing Udo that his old playmate was still to be trusted.

But he couldn't. It was safer to keep Danzig and Langenscheidt separate, and if he were to pull that off in front of Udo, the less chummy he got with him as Karl Langenscheidt, the better his chances of successfully luring his friend.

But Udo seemed unwilling to give up testing the waters just yet. "So what have you been doing since I last saw you?"

Karl shrugged a little. "In theory trying to build up a career as an actor. In practice I've been working as an office clerk."

"No luck, huh?"

Another shrug. "What about you?"

Udo grimaced. "Studied."

Karl returned the grimace. "Why am I not surprised." The real Karl would have added in semi-jest, "Have you made professor yet?" It had been their private joke whenever they met back then. But now he bit down on his lip to hold his tongue. Getting too familiar with his friend wouldn't help keeping his distance. So instead, he looked away again.

Udo seemed to get the hint. For after another spell of awkward silence, he announced with a sudden brusqueness, "Come on. I'll show you around." And in a brisk tempo – his fake limp sure didn't slow him down – he went around pointing out the Kommandant's quarters, the VIP hut, the dog pen ("Those dogs are monsters!"), the camp kitchen, the guards' mess and the prisoners' mess, the non-com club, the motorpool, and anything else that was worth mentioning. And shortly before nine they were back in front of the Kommandantur.

Udo nodded at the building. "Well, there's your first assignment. You lucky dog – I never got to work with Fräulein Helga." He sighed. "I'll see you around then."

Karl watched with a frown as his friend limped off to his other duties. What was that all about? Could it be that Udo...? If his memory served him right, this Helga sure was quite pretty, yes. Slowly, a little smile came to play around his lips. For if he'd guessed right, it'd certainly open up some interesting possibilities...

But that was for later. First he'd have to go and type up reports. Oh well, at least it was better than standing guard all day long and being bored out of your mind.

He reinforced the anxious mask he had conjured up for his guard persona and ascended the few steps to the Kommandantur with deliberate nervosity. A scared glance in the direction of the guy standing watch there (and who completely ignored him), a hesitant knock, and a friendly female voice called him to enter. A gulp, and...

Yes. The moment he saw her there was no doubt that this was the same girl who had advised him to try and court Maryse the old-fashioned way a few years ago. She had matured, yes, but that was about the only difference he noted at first glance.

"Hello there," she smiled. "How can I help you?"

Another nervous gulp. "Um... g-guten Morgen, Fräulein. I was... I mean, the Sergeant... S-Sergeant Schultz said you um... needed help with the um... p-paperwork..."

She gave him an even warmer smile, as if she wanted to reassure the poor bumbling guard on her doorstep. "Yes, the Sergeant told me about you. You're the new guard, aren't you - the one who used to work as an office clerk."

"J-jawohl, Fräulein." So that was the reason he got assigned to the office. A fortunate side-effect of his little lie, so to speak.

"How are you on the typewriter?" Fräulein Helga inquired.

"N-not so b-b-bad. We used it... a lot."

"Good." She led him to a desk where a typewriter and a stack of papers and files were waiting for him. "Then if you can start on these?"

He already began to sit down, but she stopped him. "You better take off your overcoat and your helmet. You don't need those in here."

"Yes. Of course." Flustered, the young corporal did as he was told, and she watched his clumsiness with some amusement. Her face really was an open book, Karl reflected.

"By the way, I'm Fräulein Helga," the young lady introduced herself just as he was about to sit down at his appointed desk, causing him to stumble upright again and with a bob and a salute and a clicking of the heels to stammer, "L-l-langenscheidt. I mean... C-corporal Langenscheidt, F-fräulein."

Another smile, and finally they settled down to work.

Despite the fact that his claim of being an experienced office clerk was complete bulldust, Karl thought the typing went pretty well. Much of the reports consisted of mere routine matters, but there were a few more interesting ones that bore the name 'Hogan' written all over them. For example this implausible story about the spy Wagner...

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, sending his chair flying into the wall as one of the other doors was thrown open and a baldish officer out of the blue yelled for Fräulein Helga.

They both stared at him where he stood, shaking against the wall.

It was Helga who saved the situation with some repressed mirth. "Herr Kommandant, may I present Corporal Langenscheidt? It's his first day, and Sergeant Schultz has assigned him to help me type up the arrears of paperwork. Corporal, this is Colonel Klink, the camp's Kommandant."

Yeah, he'd figured as much. Flustered, he came to attention.

The Kommandant hastily returned the salute and waved him away. "At ease, Corporal. Carry on. And Fräulein Helga, I want to see you in my office right now."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." She cast him an encouraging smile before following the man into his office, leaving her poor assistant to pick up his chair and reclaim some of his dignity in solitude.

With a private grin, Karl brought some order in the papers on his desk and resumed his typing. A few more outbursts like this and he'd be pigeonholed as the jumpiest guard in all of the Third Reich.

The next occasion presented itself an hour or so later, when Colonel Hogan came waltzing into the office without as much as a knock. "Whoa!" the American officer went as he scattered back against the wall, sending papers and chair flying again.

This time Helga laughed out loud. "Take it easy, Corporal. He may be the enemy, but he's mostly harmless."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "_Mostly_ harmless, you say? Come here and I'll show you..." He picked up some of the papers off the floor and handed them to the shaking guard in the corner. "Gee. If you are a representative example of your compatriots, this war will be over even sooner than I thought."

"Don't tease him, Colonel Hogan. It's only his first day," Helga chided him.

"Ah." A grin. "Welcome to the madhouse then."

"D... danke," Karl stammered as he began to inch his way back to his desk.

But the American officer had already turned back to the young lady. "Is the big shot in?" The way he put his arms around her as he said that made Karl all the more grateful that Maryse hadn't gotten the job.

"Mm-mm."

He made a move as to kiss her, but she pulled deftly away. "Colonel Hogan, please... Not in front of an audience." Which made the audience even more grateful. What would Klink's pretty secretary have to put up with without the accidental presence of a clerk-guard like himself? Not that she seemed to mind, but...

"We'll send the audience to study under Schultz," Colonel Hogan decided. "If he wants to survive Stalag 13, he'll have to learn to see nothing, hear nothing and know nothing. Got that, Corporal?"

"J-jawohl, Colonel Hogan."

"Good boy." A quick kiss for Fräulein Helga, and then he let go of her so she could announce him to the Kommandant. Yet there was little announcing to do, for he followed her straight in.

She shook her head with a smile when she closed the door behind him.

"Is he always so... so..." Karl ventured.

The smile broadened. "It's just a game. He doesn't mean any harm." She picked up a load of files and opened the filing cabinet, and Karl went back to his typing.

Until the phone rang, which made him jump again.

"Can you get that for me, please, Corporal?" Fräulein Helga asked.

He glanced at her – yes, she had her arms full of files. "Of course, Fräulein." He carefully picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"_Is this the Kommandantur?"_ a nervous voice asked.

"Yes." Apparently he was not the only nervous guard around here.

"_This is Private Schnüffis at the main gate. We have a Gestapo Leutnant here who wants to leave. He has a pass indeed, but we have no record of him entering. Can you please ask the Kommandant what we should do?"_

"Yes, of course. Please hold." He put down the receiver and cast an anxious look at Fräulein Helga. "Begging your p-pardon, Fräulein, b-but would it be alright for me to d-disturb the K-kommandant while he is c-conferring with C-c-colonel Hogan? Th-there is a problem at the m-main gate."

"Sure. Go ahead." She just kept putting away files.

Nervously he inched past her and knocked on the Kommandant's door.

"_I cannot be disturbed!"_ came Colonel Klink's voice from inside.

Alarmed he glanced back at Fräulein Helga.

"Just try again," was her advice.

So he gulped, and knocked again.

"_Come in,"_ sounded the Kommandant's exasperated reply.

More fidgety than ever, Karl entered, almost tripped over the threshold and saluted the all powerful Kommandant, while well aware of Colonel Hogan's very intense scrutiny of him as well. The guy seemed to look straight through him, which made his nervous act all the more realistic.

Meanwhile, Kommandant Klink scolded, "Langenscheidt, are you hard of hearing or do you need a trip to the front to sharpen your senses?"

Karl almost saluted again to appease his angry superior officer, but instead he stammered, "Th-the main g-gate is c-c-calling, b-begging the K-kommandant's p-pardon. A G-g-gestapo Leutnant is there."

"Tell him nothing!" the Kommandant replied in a reflex – clearly he was as scared of the Gestapo as everyone else. But he added as nervously as Karl felt, "What does he want?"

"Um... to leave, Herr K-kommandant. He has a pass, but th-they have no record of him entering."

"What do I care!" Klink yelled. "If he wants out, let him out – the sooner, the better! Dummkopf!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Certainly, Herr Kommandant." A flustered salute as he began to back out of the room. "Right away, Herr Kommandant." He let go of a shaky breath the moment the door was closed behind him.

And Helga gave him a smile. "You'll get used to it. He's not so bad."

He took a deep breath to compose himself. "I thought he was g-going to get me c-court-martialled..."

"He wouldn't do that. Believe me, he's all bark and no bite." She nodded to the phone. "You better tell the guys at the main gate what he said."

"What? Oh! Yes."

The rest of the day went by rather quietly with a fairly decent meal in the mess hall, and more typing and establishing his anxious and clumsy character. But when he nearly got run over by a runaway tank when he reported to the office for duty the following day, he realized that guard duty in a camp where Colonel Hogan was held prisoner was not likely to be very quiet...

* * *

"_Papa Bear calling Red Ridinghood. Come in, Ridinghood."_

Maryse glanced at the radio and back to the highly feverish face of her boy-friend. She'd rather not leave his side for a second, but with Karl gone...

She dashed to the radio nonetheless. After all, there was a good chance they were calling to arrange the pick-up of that miracle medicine that could save Karl's life. "Little Red Ridinghood here. Go ahead, Papa Bear."

"_We've got the medicine, but things are very tight here. How's the patient?"_

"Not good." She glanced at him, and swallowed with difficulty. "The fever is really bad, and getting worse. He needs that stuff, Papa Bear."

"_Alright. We'll try and get it through to you somehow. Just hold on. Over and out."_

She put down the microphone and hid her face in her hands for a moment. "And hurry," she whispered urgently. "Please, Colonel Hogan – _please_ hurry!"

* * *

.

_Author's note: Can you believe we got over 100,000 words? Well, ffnet counting, but still... _

_Anyway, I think you all noticed to which episode this chapter refers and from which I quoted a little. _:-)_  
_


	28. Helga

"Udo?" Danzig stopped his friend as the other members of their 'drama club' filed out of the parish hall after two hours of varied improvisation and impersonation games.

"Yeah?"

Oskar pulled him aside a little. "Got a little task for you. Are you free any evening this weekend?"

Udo frowned for a moment as he recalled his schedule. "I'm on duty most of the weekend, but I've got Friday night off."

"Good. Now from what Maryse tells me, I think the Kommandant's secretary might make a worthy addition to our group."

Udo gulped. "You mean Fräulein Helga?"

"Yes. So I want you to ask her out for Friday night and..."

"_Me_?" Udo squeaked.

"Yes." Oskar raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why – is there a problem? I thought you said you liked her."

Udo heaved a sigh. "That _is_ the problem."

His friend chuckled. "Don't tell me Cupid has made a bumbling fool out of you?"

"Worse." Udo shuffled a little with his feet. "I've tried to talk to her a few times – you know, when she comes in the morning, or when she leaves. But the moment I set eyes on her, I get completely tongue-tied. And my legs get so wobbly they just won't move... It's awful."

Oskar couldn't help a grin. "I know what you mean – I was just like that with Maryse at first. But if you seriously want to get to know her, believe me, it's worth the mortification."

Udo sighed. "But asking her out... She's just going to turn me down. Half the guards have already asked her, but she won't go out with _anybody_."

"But she won't refuse this time," Oskar assured him. "Because we're going on a double date. You just tell her that her old colleague Maryse Gotthardt from the theatre in Duisburg is coming, too – _with_ her boy-friend Oskar Danzig. She'll accept the invitation, I promise you. No woman will pass up the opportunity to see the result of her matchmaking with her very own eyes."

* * *

It was two days till Friday, and Karl watched with growing amusement how Private Steinmetz tried time and again to work up the nerve to walk up to Fräulein Helga and ask her out – and chickened out every single time. It was obvious that he needed some help, unless the pressure of the final day would finally jolt him into action.

Apparently Udo had come to that same conclusion. For the moment he and Sergeant Schmidt had let him in at the gate that morning, he pulled his old playmate aside and whispered urgently, "Karl, I need you to do me a real big favour."

Karl raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Can you..." Udo glanced over his shoulder at the Sergeant. "Are you working in the office again today?"

"I suppose so, yes. Why?"

"Can you... I know this sounds pathetic, but can you _please_ ask Fräulein Helga to go out with me tonight?"

Karl gave him an incredulous look, while biting back his all too ready chuckle. "Me? Why don't you ask her yourself?"

A desperate sigh. "I've _tried_, but..."

He was interrupted by Sergeant Schmidt. "Hey Steinmetz, no time for chitchat now. Help me open the gate!"

With a pleading look at his old friend, imploring him not to go on to the office just yet, Udo returned to his duties and helped to open the gate for the approaching staff car. The three soldiers saluted dutifully as it drove in, and Sergeant Schmidt bent down to the driver's window. "Guten Morgen, Herr Major. Heil Hitler."

The greeting was silently returned before the man next to the driver told him to notify the Kommandant of this place immediately that General von Platzen had arrived.

"Of course, Herr Colonel." Schmidt bowed and clicked his heels. "Langenscheidt, go to the Kommandant – quickly! – and tell him that General von Platzen and his party have arrived."

Karl jumped to a nervous attention, "Jawohl, Sergeant," and took off as fast as his legs could carry him.

"If you will just wait here a moment for Kommandant Klink's permission to enter the camp?" Schmidt told the driver.

But from the back of the car a rather high-pitched voice spoke up. "I will _not_ wait. Who does this Klink think he is, that I'd need _his_ permission to enter this rathole? Nonsense. Drive on, Fröbel." And before Schmidt or Udo could stop them, the General's party drove on towards the Kommandantur, high upon the heels of the running Langenscheidt.

Karl burst into the office and without even acknowledging Fräulein Helga he stumbled on towards the Kommandant's door, knocked, and entered without even waiting for a reply. "Herr Kommandant," he began half out of breath before he had even fully come to attention.

The Kommandant – who apparently was in a meeting with Colonel Hogan – scowled dangerously. "Did I ask for you, Langenscheidt?"

"Herr Kommandant Klink," he panted, messing up the form of address in the consternation. "General von Pleisen and his party are here."

Despite his nervous corruption of the General's name, there was no doubt the Kommandant knew exactly who he was talking about, for his eyes narrowed and he barked, "Here? Where – how?"

"J-just outside the building." Seeing how close upon his heels they had been, they were probably about to enter this very room...

The Kommandant however didn't seem to realize that yet. With two threatening steps he stood in front of him, forcing Karl to take a surreptitious step back, and he thundered in his face, "I gave strict instructions I was to be notified the minute they came in the gate! Now I will find those responsible and..." A gasp suddenly ended the outburst as realization hit him. "Did you say 'just outside the building'...?"

Karl nodded anxiously. "On their way in, Herr Kommandant," he stammered as he heard the tell-tale commotion on the porch.

The Kommandant instantly seemed to have forgotten about him, and with a nervous glance at the enemy Colonel by the desk, Karl backed out of the room as fast as he could. For he suddenly realized he didn't have his gun anymore – probably dropped it in his mad dash over here. But the mere thought of the consequences if the prisoners got hold of _his_ gun...

Frantically, poor Corporal Langenscheidt sped right out of the office again, almost knocking the General off the porch in his haste.

Now _where_ had he lost that blasted gun?

But he already saw Udo waving him over to the gate. Perhaps Udo...?

Indeed. "Here you are, you fool. You dropped this."

"Thanks." Karl was breathless with gratitude.

"That's okay. Just don't let it happen again." He pulled his old playmate aside again. "But you can make it up to me right away. Can you _please_ ask Fräulein Helga to go out with me tonight? It's important!"

Karl pulled away a bit. "Look, I'm really grateful that you saved my hide by taking care of my gun. But why don't you ask her yourself? You're the one who wants to go out with her!"

"I've _tried_, really, I have! But she's... I don't know – just... But I _need_ to go out with her tonight. Tell her that an old friend of hers is..."

"Look mate." Karl stepped back and threw his retrieved gun over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous. If you want me to pass on a note to her – fine. But I'm not going to ask her out in your name. That's preposterous, and you know it."

Despite the refusal, Udo's face suddenly brightened – exactly as Karl had intended. "A note! Why didn't I think of that?" He grabbed his old friend by the shoulders. "Would you really do that for me – pass on a note to her?"

But before Karl could answer, a fierce explosion rocked the ground, and in a reflex the two friends dove to the ground.

"What's happening?" a panicky Karl yelled, but the next explosion drowned out any reply Udo might have given.

Three... four... five... six... No seven? No, it seemed that was all.

As soon as he dared to lift his head, he heard Sergeant Schultz yelling across the compound. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report – a prisoner is missing!"

That certainly got the Kommandant to his feet in a flash. "Sound the alarm! Let loose the dogs!"

Hurriedly, they scrambled to their feet, and Karl, who had yet to get training in this, decided to simply follow Udo's lead.

Behind him he heard the Kommandant shout, " The truck with the dogs! After them! Go!"

The vet's truck was just about to leave. In a moment they had surrounded it and... Karl's jaw dropped. For there was Colonel Hogan, pulling open the back door of the truck just as it started up, and out spilt not only a prisoner, but a whole bunch of the monsterdogs as well! He and his fellow guards couldn't back away from the beasts fast enough, but what was that...? One of the dogs walked up to Colonel Hogan and... licked his face as he lay there on the ground? ! ?

He didn't believe his eyes. Those killer dogs _licked_ a prisoner in the face? A _prisoner_, of all people? What use were those dogs for guard duty if they were friends with the prisoners? How had Colonel Hogan managed _that_?

Once things had returned to normal, he finally was able to retreat to the office and get a start on today's typing work. Fräulein Helga however was nowhere to be seen – perhaps she was in with the Kommandant and the General.

The morning passed with some more excitement when first Colonel Hogan exited the Kommandant's office with a scowl the size of a scorpion on his face, followed shortly afterwards by the visiting General, with the Kommandant – proud as a peacock – strutting in his wake.

"He's been promoted to Berlin, to be in charge of all prison camps," Helga replied to his hesitant inquiry. And she grimaced. "The General wants me to come along, too, but I'm not going anywhere near that creep again. There are limits to what a girl will put up with for the Fatherland!"

He nodded in compassion, but couldn't help worrying a little, too. Hadn't Colonel Hogan said the Kommandant was a great asset to their work? He wasn't quite sure in what way that was, but the scowl on the American's face just now spoke volumes. He clearly wasn't happy about the Kommandant's promotion.

Perhaps he could find a way to keep the Kommandant here after all? Perhaps if...?

A wild roar outside made them both jump.

"What was that?" Karl shuddered. "Are we attacked by monsters?"

Helga sniggered, and then they both recognized the sound of some irate tirade outside. "I'd say it sounds more like an angry Inspector General," she said with a touch of humour. She went over to the window. "Yep. He's fallen down a collapsed tunnel."

Five minutes and another explosion that had Karl diving under his desk later, an utterly dejected Kommandant Klink came into the office again.

Fräulein Helga addressed him right away. "Herr Kommandant, about what the General said regarding my coming to Berlin with you..."

The Kommandant raised a tired hand to forestall any further effusions. "I will not be going to Berlin, Fräulein. You may as well consider me shot." And with a visible shudder he disappeared in his office, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

Anxiously, Karl raised his eyebrows at her, but she merely shrugged in return. "Don't ask me. I know nothing – nothing!"

* * *

"Did you ask her yet?" The moment he entered the guards' mess, Udo sidled up to him.

And Karl sighed. "No. I said I'd pass on a note, remember? And you haven't given me any note yet."

"But I don't have pen and paper on me!" Udo yammered.

Another sigh. "Then let's have lunch quickly, and then you can come to the office with me. We've got lots of paper and pens there."

Udo groaned. "And what if _she's_ there?"

"Then I guess you won't need that note. Now come on."

They quickly finished their bowl of well-filling peasoup and returned to the office.

"No one there," Karl murmured over his shoulder as he opened the door. "I just hope I won't get in trouble for this. What is the punishment for guards breaking the rules?"

Udo shivered. "Walking a post outside the fence if you're lucky. Or else..."

Karl gulped. That was clear enough... "Well, we better be quick then. Before anyone comes back."

Udo nodded, and ready to run, the two guards crept inside. "I'm really not supposed to be here, you know," Udo whispered. "If Sergeant Schultz catches me here, or worse – the Kommandant... I'm dead meat."

"Then you better write that note quickly." And nervously, Karl placed a paper and a pencil in front of him. "Hurry up."

Perched on the edge of Fräulein Helga's chair, Udo began to scribble his message to her. But he didn't get far, for the door opened and... Fräulein Helga herself walked in.

Udo's startled reaction was remarkably similar to Corporal Langenscheidt's trademark scramblings on such occasions, and as always, it made Fräulein Helga chuckle.

"So there is two of you nervous rabbits now, eh?" She granted Udo a knee-wobbling smile. "Hello, Private." She picked up the paper that had fluttered to the floor and handed it back to him.

Apart from accepting his note on autopilot, Udo stood absolutely petrified in his corner, staring at her with big, anxious – yes, rabbit eyes.

She gave him a friendly nod. "Please, don't let me disturb you." And she picked up a pile of files and opened the filing cabinet in the far corner.

He gulped, and glanced at his old comrade in the other corner.

"_So ask her alright_," Karl mouthed to him with equally large eyes.

A difficult gulp, closing his eyes for a moment and... "Fräulein, c-can I... Would you... I mean... I have ehm..."

"Yes?" Fräulein Helga prompted neutrally as her suitor fell silent.

A deep breath for courage, and, "I have a friend who would like to see you again, and I was wondering if you'd want to go out with me tonight to meet her," he rushed out.

She raised her eyebrows rather skeptically. "A friend, huh?"

Udo nodded fervently. "So will you go out with me tonight?"

But Fräulein Helga was not so easily drawn in. "And who is this 'friend' of yours?"

Udo didn't get a chance to reply, for the door opened again (making the two soldiers jump in their respective corners), and in stormed a sour-faced Kommandant Klink. But he stopped in his tracks when he noticed Udo hovering against the back wall. "Private, what are you doing here? Out!"

And tethering on the end of his nerves as he already was, poor Udo simply fled...

As soon as the Kommandant had disappeared in his office slamming the door behind him, Helga shrugged and resumed her filing work.

Karl watched her for a moment with indecision. Should he interfere, or...? It was unlikely that Udo would be able to muster the courage to approach the young lady _again_ after this debacle, so perhaps... "Aren't you going to ask the Private who this friend was?" he ventured at last.

Fräulein Helga shrugged. "It's probably all eyewash anyway. Half the guards have been asking me out already, and you wouldn't believe the outrageous excuses they come up with to entice me to accept."

Karl swallowed. That didn't bode well... "But how do you know Steinmetz doesn't _really_ know an old friend of yours? The least you could do is hear him out – that only seems fair."

She turned to him with a sigh and put down the last files. "Alright, I'll hear him out. Where is he supposed to be?"

Karl picked up the duty roster. "I think he should be guarding the motorpool."

"Alright." She picked up her cardigan and put it on. "Back in five."

It was nearly ten minutes however before she returned – with a radiant smile on her face. "You were right," she told him without being prompted. "He does know an old friend of mine. _And_ her boy-friend, whom I happened to help to get together with her. That'd be really neat seeing them again – I haven't seen them for years!"

And Karl smiled to himself. Once again, his insight in the female mind had been spot on.

* * *

Despite the fact that they had worked together for a mere two months, Maryse and Helga greeted each other as long-lost friends at the Hofbrau that evening.

"Maryse! It's so good to see you again!" Hug, kiss, kiss.

"You don't look so bad yourself either. I was so surprised when I heard that you had gotten the secretary job in the prison camp! So tell me – what's it like?"

"Oh well, just another job. A girl's got to make a living somehow." She looked over Maryse's shoulder to where the two gentlemen were watching the reunion scene. "And to think that you're still with _him_! I confess I had never expected _that_! I guess he wasn't so bad after all, was he?"

Danzig – in the same southern-looking disguise with which Helga had always known him – smirked. "No, I believe she's quite content with me." They all laughed, and Oskar continued, "Which reminds me – I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for your advice at the time, have I? Then let me do so now, for without your invaluable help, I would never have been able to 'secure her affections' as they say."

Helga beamed at him. "I'm glad I could be of service. But to see you two still being together after what – three years? Four? That's thanks enough for me."

They settled down at a table for four, and ordered a good meal. There was talk and laughter all through dinner as the three old acquaintances indulged in reminiscences of Oskar's courting the girl of his dreams, and to some degree caught up with the others' lives since then. In the course of the evening, even Udo got over the worst of his timidity with the girl of _his_ dreams, and he, too, began to join in their happy discourse.

But when dinner was well over, Oskar suddenly stood. "It was a real pleasure meeting you again, Helga, but unfortunately Udo and I still have some business to attend to tonight."

Udo scowled at him – he certainly didn't want to leave yet.

But Maryse jumped right in. "Then why don't you come back to my place? I've got some real coffee saved for a special occasion. I think this qualifies as such, don't you?"

Helga nodded eagerly. "And then we can have some proper girl talk, too, just like the old times." She gave Oskar a teasing grin. "And gossip about you men, of course."

But he merely chuckled. "Sounds indeed like you two don't need us to amuse yourselves. Well, ladies, if we may help you into your coats then?"

A few minutes later they parted on the doorstep of the Hofbrau, and shortly afterwards Helga found herself in the tiny kitchen of Richterstraβe 18, watching Maryse grind a handful of precious coffeebeans.

"Nice place," she commented appreciatively. "You don't know how lucky you are to have a place all to yourself. I live in a boarding-house for now. It's okay, and it's close to the camp, but still..."

Maryse nodded. "Yes, I was very lucky to get this. It's small, yes, but I have a lot more privacy here than I'd have in a boarding-house." She put the coffee in the filter and poured the first dose of boiling water on before joining her former colleague at the small kitchen table.

Helga rested her chin on her fists. "So tell me all the details now: how come you two aren't married yet? At least you're not wearing a ring, so..."

Maryse looked down at her ringless fingers for a moment. She knew she had to watch herself in what she revealed tonight, especially since Helga had proven more than once that she was exceptionally perceptive – exactly the reason why Karl would like her to join their team. "Well..." she hesitated. "It's a long story, really. And by the time I finally came to realize that I loved him, too, we were living in a world at war."

"So?" Helga grimaced. "That's three years ago. Don't tell me you've been engaged for three whole years?"

Maryse shrugged a little. "It just didn't seem right to get married with so much horror around us. We talked about it of course, but we simply decided to wait until the war is over."

"You're kidding... That could be years!" Suddenly Helga hesitated. "Are you sure he really _does_ want to marry you? That he's not leading you on, I mean? He seems nice enough for sure, but... Has he even asked you?"

All of a sudden Maryse froze. "Now that you mention it – no, I don't think he's ever really asked me. Not officially, I mean. But we've talked about it quite a lot and believe me, he's absolutely serious about wanting to marry me. Always has been, too, from the very beginning." She got up and poured some more boiling water in the filter, using the distraction to force the sudden frown from her face. _Of course Karl wanted to marry her... How could there be any doubt?_

"So how about you?" she inquired as she sat down again. "Do you have a boy-friend or anything?"

Helga shook her head. "So far the men seem to be mainly interested in my looks, and I hate that. I want someone who likes me for who I am – not just because of my pretty face."

Maryse chuckled. "Yeah, I heard you've already turned down half the guard corps in camp."

Helga sighed. "I barely know these guys – why would I want to go out with them? And besides, I don't want to play favourites by accepting one invitation and turning down another. That would only cause envy among them, and then I'd have to accept them all to make peace again, and where would that leave my reputation? I'd be known as the local army-whore – no, thank you!"

"But you accepted Udo's invitation tonight."

"Yes, but I told him right away that I'd only come because I wanted to see you and Oskar again." She frowned. "How did you know Udo by the way?"

"He's a friend of Oskar's."

"Ah."

Silence, in which the filter was filled up a third time.

"And what about that Colonel Hogan?"

Helga raised her eyebrows. "What about him?"

Maryse smirked. "I hear you're pretty flirtatious around _him_ whenever he comes into the office."

Helga's blush went all the way up to the roots of her hair. "Who told you that?"

"Udo of course."

"How would _he_ know? He's never in the office."

"Maybe not, but the guy who's been assigned as your assistant is an old friend of Udo's." She chuckled as she saw Helga roll her eyes and teased, "Welcome to the country, my dear – this isn't exactly anonymous Duisburg."

"So I see," Helga muttered.

Maryse chuckled, and finally poured the coffee and pushed the milk and sugar in her friend's direction. She certainly proved to be as open and talkative as she remembered her – hopefully the coffee would help in furthering the confidential atmosphere.

"Mm," Helga mused with her eyes closed as she took her first sip. "Haven't had this in a long time..."

For a while, they just sipped their steaming hot treat in silence, but at last, Maryse repeated, "So what about this Colonel Hogan?"

"What about him?"

"Well, do you like him, is he handsome... You know, the usual."

Helga smiled. "He's handsome alright. And a little crazy, too."

Maryse chuckled. "I once knew a few Americans, too. When I lived in England. They, too, were a little... odd. Crazy, as you say."

Helga grinned. "Maybe that's the American trademark?"

They both chuckled at that, and another companiable silence ensued as they enjoyed their coffee.

Helga was the first to break it this time. "Do you know many Americans?"

Maryse thought for a moment. "Half a dozen maybe. But that was in England. I don't think I've met any since we came back to Germany."

"Colonel Hogan was the first American I've ever met," Helga told her somewhat dreamily. "And some specimen _he_ is... I've always been fascinated by anything American – already when I was a little girl. I'd love to go to America after the war."

Maryse's expression wavered between worry and skepticism. "Don't tell me you're trying to get that Colonel Hogan to be your ticket to America?"

"No, nothing like that." Helga folded her hands around her coffeemug. "It's hard to explain, but..." She halted, and looked up in her friend's eyes. "Do you recall how we sometimes used to talk about what was going on in this country?"

Maryse nodded silently.

And Helga searched her face. "And do you still think there is... you know... what we agreed about back then?"

"A lot wrong," Maryse quietly completed, never letting go of her friend's eyes.

"Yes." Helga let out a sigh of relief. "And to be honest, I don't want Germany to win this war. We don't need Hitler ruling the world, so I want the Allies to win. So I'm helping Colonel Hogan in any way I can. Even if I can but guess at what I'm actually helping him with. But whatever he asks, I give to him as far as it is within my possibilities."

A long silence ensued, punctuated by their sips of coffee. _Talk about being honest almost to a fault_, Maryse reflected. _If that went for her, it seemed to go even more for young Helga Lindner. Would she...?_

A deep breath. "Helga... would you like to do _more_ to help the Allies win?"

Helga looked up. "You mean...? Of course I would. But I..." Suddenly she sat up. "You mean _you_ are part of the Resistance?" Highly perceptive as always...

A silent nod was all the reply she got.

Helga just stared at her, struggling with her disbelief. "I had no idea women did that, too! I thought it was more something for young men."

Maryse had a sad shrug. "Young men are sent off to die at the front. And _someone_ has to stand up and make a difference. So why can't we women help to make that difference?"

Helga frowned. "I suppose you're right. So what do you do?"

"Basically, we help civilians who've gotten in trouble. And we try to sabotage the German war effort wherever we can."

"And how can I help?"

Maryse shook her head. "That's not for me to decide. Do you like acting?"

Another frown. "Like in the theatre? What's that got to do with it?"

A smile. "Because we're meeting under the pretense of being a drama club. And up to a point, we are."

A sudden grin lit up Helga's face. "With a certain Herr Oskar Danzig as the director, I bet."

Maryse had a rather tense smile, for that was not something she had intended to reveal just yet. That exceptional perception of Helga's sure did have its downsides...

"So when and where does this drama club meet?" her guest inquired.

A deep breath. "I'll meet you under the trees at the Wilhelmsplatz, Tuesday evening around seven, okay?"

Helga grinned. "Okay."

But Maryse remained deadly serious. "And not a word to _anyone_, understood? This is not a game, Helga," she emphasized, stressing every word. "And we're not an ordinary drama club either. One casual word to the wrong person and we're all dead. Is that clear?"

Helga nodded. "Don't worry – I know how today's world works. They won't hear a peep from me."

"Good." Maryse let out a sigh.

And suddenly Helga reached out across the table, and quietly she said, "And I'm really sorry for doubting Oskar's intentions with you. Now I understand why you two can't get married yet. Far too dangerous for both of you."

Maryse bit her lip and looked away. "I just want this horrid war to end," she whispered. "For the people, for the soldiers, for the world... But if I'm _really_ honest..." She closed her eyes as in agony. "Most of all for me..."

* * *

.

_Author's note: The episode described of course is _The Late Inspector General_. _

_And dare I hope that those of you who have read _Helga's Hero_ understood right away why she has always been so fascinated with anything American?_ :-)

_For those of you who haven't read it: don't worry. Foreknowledge of the story I created for Helga's background will not be necessary to understand her contribution in this one. Though I guess it wouldn't hurt to check it out of course_ ;-)


	29. Water

_Author's note: This chapter contains a few scenes and some dialogue from the episode _Go Light on the Heavy Water_, written by Arthur Julian._

.

* * *

The moment Udo walked into the parish hall he let go of his limp, and with a much promising grin he walked over to the drama group's director.

Oskar raised his eyebrows. "What's up?"

Udo pulled him away from the others. "I ran into a guy from my student fraternity in Düsseldorf today – Michael is his name. And when he heard that I pass my days as a lowly prison guard, he got a little too talkative for his own good – and for the good of his company. It turns out that he's working on nuclear experiments with heavy water. You know, the stuff they use to try and make an H-bomb."

Oskar nodded. "I know. And?"

"He told me they'd gotten that water especially from Norway – a whole barrel of it! And believe me, that stuff isn't so easy to get hold of. So I thought perhaps we could steal it and get rid of it – that'd set them back a fair bit."

A glint appeared in Oskar's eye. "Nice thinking. Where is this place – do you know it?"

"The IG Fröbel laboratory in the village of Erkelenz, just west of here, close to the border. To avoid the bombing obviously. I wouldn't be surprised if they were into all kinds of nasty weapons."

Oskar nodded. "Probably, yes. Anything else you can tell me about the laboratory?"

"Only that he mentioned that the Fröbel complex was heavily guarded, so it might not be so easy to get in."

"Unless you're one of _them_," Oskar smirked.

"What do you mean?"

But his friend shook his head. "I'll have to think this over properly first. But I think I've already got an idea as to how to get hold of that water."

Oskar wouldn't say anything else on the subject, so Udo let it be and enjoyed their drama games for the night. Once again, Oskar made him act out leadership roles over and over again. He'd been doing that a lot lately – clearly he was training his friend to be able to take command of a mission if necessary.

And a few days later, Udo found his friend on his doorstep one evening. "Care for a walk?" Oskar asked casually.

"Sure. Why not." Udo grabbed his jacket, stuck his head around the kitchen-door to tell his mother he was going for a walk, and the next minute the two friends sauntered off along the road leading out of town.

As soon as they'd left the town behind them, Oskar switched gears from casual chitchat to the problem at hand. "I've been looking into that project of yours. It's certainly viable – we should be able to get hold of that water."

Udo grinned. "Good work."

"Question is..." Oskar remained completely serious. "What do we do with the stuff once we got it? Can it be used for anything _but _bombs?"

Udo shook his head. "Not that I know of. Its only value – its immeasurable value – lies in the making of those bombs."

"So we'll have to destroy it somehow. Or simply get rid of it." Oskar frowned. "It is pretty much water, isn't it. Perhaps if we just empty that barrel somewhere along the road...?"

Udo chuckled. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. You'd kill off the entire area. Heavy water," he went into lecturer's mode, "Causes all living things to stop growing. Cells aren't regenerated anymore, and propagation systems will be damaged beyond control. Within one generation, all life will cease to exist if it gets seriously poisoned with heavy water."

"And what if we water it down with normal water? Like pouring it into the Rhine?"

"Not good enough. It'd simply affect a larger area to a lesser degree."

"Then how _can_ we destroy it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you're the scientist."

"That doesn't mean I know how to destroy heavy water. Look." He spread out his hands. "The whole point of heavy water is that it doesn't exist in nature. You have to go through a whole lot of trouble to make it, and _that_ I can do. But it's so darned valuable, that I don't think anyone has ever bothered to try and discover how to safely destroy it effectively. Why would they want to do that when they've got hard-earned gold on their hands?"

"Can't you simply reverse the process?"

"I don't know." Udo pondered the question for a moment. "It's doubtful, but it might be possible. It'd be worth a try if you got the equipment for it. But I can hardly show up in Düsseldorf with a barrel of heavy water in tow, and tell my professors that I want to experiment with turning it into regular water again. Who's ever heard of turning wine into water?"

Oskar sighed. "But I can hardly hide that barrel of wine of yours in the cellar either, can I."

Udo agreed, and they walked on together in silence for a while.

"Alright, here is what we'll do," Oskar said at last. "We'll go in together, with you as the officer and me as your aide."

"Why not the other way around?" Udo inquired.

"Because I don't know the first thing about this stuff, and it's right up your alley of expertise – that's why. Besides, I want you to get some serious practice in taking on the part of the leader, and what better opportunity than to do so in a situation where you outclass me in the first place? And you've been taking on leader roles a lot in our drama games lately. I think you're ready to try it out for real."

Udo cast him a sharp glance. "Why? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Danzig shrugged. "Merely that I'm not immortal." He forestalled his friend's protest with a curt gesture. "Face it, Udo – you guys are far too dependent on me. My own fault, I suppose, but where does that leave you guys if _I'd_ be the one to get caught or shot one day? I'm no more immune to that than any of you are, you know. So if it should happen, it'd be good if there'd be someone who can take over right away. And from what I've seen in our group, I think that should be you."

Udo remained silent.

"And I'd rather give you a chance to practise that role with me at your side to back you up if necessary. To let you build up your confidence." He grimaced. "Believe me – being promoted out of the blue to be the leader of a resistance group is no picnic."

Udo glanced at his friend. "Is that what happened to you?" Oskar hardly ever opened up about his past.

And Danzig nodded. "And I was quite a bit younger than you are now. And still raw from watching our leader being killed the night before."

They walked on in silence, Danzig with his head in the past, and Udo eager to learn more, but hesitant to ask for his friend's confidence.

"We've been incredibly fortunate so far," Danzig at last continued. "Your broken leg is the only serious injury we've ever had to deal with. But the way things are, that can't possibly keep up forever. Some day, someone is going to get shot, or caught by the Gestapo... And that may just as well be me. We need to be prepared for that."

Udo nodded. "I understand. And I'll do my best." He hesitated. "So what do we do with Erkelenz? And with that barrel of heavy water once we get hold of it?"

Oskar smirked. "We'll drop it in Colonel Hogan's lap. For he's got something that we don't: access to experts in London. Let them figure out how to get rid of the stuff."

* * *

The small truck squeaked to a halt at the closed gate of the IG Fröbel complex in Erkelenz.

"Heil Hitler," the driver greeted as a guard emerged from his box.

"Heil Hitler," he returned. "What is your business here?"

"I am Captain Harold Müller," the fortyish officer next to the driver took over. "And I am here to conduct a surprise inspection to determine the progress being made in the development of the H-bomb." He frowned. "Our beloved Führer is getting impatient."

The guard looked doubtful. "Can I see your orders, bitte, Herr Kapitän?"

Without a word, the Captain reached into this pocket and pulled out a small stack of neatly folded papers.

The guard scanned them thoroughly before handing them back. "In Ordnung, Herr Kapitän. You can park the truck to your right here, and report to the reception desk. I will inform Dr. Streichholz of your visit."

He opened the gate for them, and slowly, the small truck turned into the compound. The car was parked as directed, and within minutes, Captain Müller and his aide strode into the main entrance and announced themselves at reception.

"Dr. Streichholz is on his way down," the lady behind the desk informed them. "He'll be just a minute. If you gentlemen perhaps would like to sit down?"

But before they could, the lift door opened and an agitated man in a white lab coat stepped out into the reception area. "What is this? Are you this Captain Müller?"

"Yes, Herr Doktor." The Captain brought the Hitler salute, and it was hastily returned.

"What is this nonsense about a surprise inspection? Why wasn't I notified of that?"

Captain Müller's mouth twitched a little. "My good man, if you had been informed in advance, it wouldn't be much of a _surprise_ inspection, would it?"

The doctor had to grant him that, but he continued to object nonetheless. "But how are we supposed to do our work with inspectors hanging over our shoulders? We are making good progress, and we dutifully report our findings to the National Science Board. This inspection is a waste of time – both yours and mine!"

Captain Müller shrugged apologetically. "I have my orders, Herr Doktor. I'm just doing my duty."

"Hmpf."

"Now if you could please show us around your laboratories? Your time clearly is very valuable, so we better get this over and done with."

Another grunt. "Alright then. But under protest."

The Captain nodded. "Your protest is noted. Now if we can just get on with it?"

Still grumbling, the doctor led them into the elevator. And behind his back, Udo stole a quick glance at his friend. He got an almost imperceptible nod in return, and relieved that he was doing fine so far, he followed Dr. Streichholz into the laboratory on the third floor, where he clearly surprised the man by asking exactly those questions that showed his considerable expertise in the field.

"Are you a scientist yourself perhaps?" Dr. Streichholz inquired with curiosity.

Captain Müller nodded, and took out a small notebook. "I've got a degree in both chemistry and engineering. It wouldn't do to send in an inspector who doesn't have a clue what he's looking at, would it?"

"No. Of course not," the doctor agreed. He suddenly seemed a bit more positively disposed towards his unannounced visitor, and began to garnish their tour of the lab with scientific gibberish that went way over Karl's head, but judging by the doctor's reactions to Captain Müller's remarks and questions, apparently Udo had no trouble following the man's explanations.

And there was the sign: Udo rubbed his chin. Karl waited patiently for the two to finish discussing this particular part of the project, and when they finally moved on, he followed right in their wake – but not without his hand unobtrusively reaching out to the dial and turning it oh so little to the left. Not enough to draw immediate attention, but enough to mess up whatever experiment they were conducting with it...

The procedure repeated itself a few times as they wandered purposefully around the third floor labs, and then onto those on the fourth floor. Karl saw Udo stiffen once – probably because he detected his old study comrade among the lab personnel. But he recovered himself immediately, and by the looks of it, Dr. Streichholz was so engrossed in his scientific elaborations that he hadn't noticed the momentary break of character.

And so came the tour to an end.

"Well, I hope you'll be able to give a positive report about us to your superiors, Herr Kapitän," the doctor said.

Captain Müller nodded absent-mindedly as he added the last few notes to his list. He frowned, and let his finger run by his notes. "I will certainly report that you are doing mighty good work here, Herr Doktor. But unfortunately..." He swallowed quickly. "The Weinbach research complex in Berlin has a higher efficiency rating than the IG Fröbel. They've made considerably more progress than you have here." He saw the doctor turning purple, and quickly dealt his final blow before the man could get a word in. "Therefore, in order to force a speedy break-through, the Führer in all his wisdom has decided that all the available heavy water will be assigned to the most efficient research complex." He looked up. "That means the Weinbach facility will get your full supply of heavy water."

Dr. Streichholz exploded. "What? They can't do that! We got that water from Norway with our own funds!"

"Herr Doktor." Captain Müller calmly put his notes away. "Are you standing in the way of scientific progress that is likely to help us win the war?"

"Of course not! But...!"

"Then you will agree that resources should be allocated where they are used in the most efficient manner, do you not?"

"Yes, but..." Dr. Streichholz heaved a sigh. He knew when he was outmanoeuvered. "It seems so unfair. Why can't they get their own heavy water? Why do they have to take ours?"

"I'm sure it's nothing personal, Herr Doktor," Captain Müller assured him. "We all have to make sacrifices for the war effort."

"Yes, but to lose to _Weinbach_... What makes them so much better than us?"

The Captain took out his notes again and consulted them. "They work faster for one thing. Which also means they go through their supplies a lot faster than the IG Fröbel does. I suspect that there lies the secret of their success."

"Hm. Speed in scientific discovery is not necessarily a good thing, you know."

Captain Müller sighed. "I know. But our glorious Führer wants to see results, and he wants to see them fast. I'm afraid they grasped that idea a little better at Weinbach's."

Dr. Streichholz nodded in defeat. "Alright then. And what are we at IG Fröbel to do in the meantime?"

"I expect the National Science Board will get back to you soon with new orders." The Captain nodded to his aide. "If you would be so kind then, Dr. Streichholz, as to show my aide where you keep your supply of heavy water? We are expected back in Berlin, so we can take it right with us."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Just the two of you? To protect such valuable cargo? Isn't that asking for trouble, Herr Kapitän?"

"We'll be alright," Udo assured him. "The less attention we attract, the less chance of someone getting interested in our cargo. And what can be more inconspicuous than a mere Captain and his aide in a small truck?"

"I still don't like it," Dr. Streichholz insisted. "No offence, Captain, but this is _heavy water_ we're talking about." He drew himself up. "I'll send ten guards with you to make sure you get this valuable cargo safely to Berlin."

"Really, Herr Doktor." Udo glanced nervously at his silent companion. "That won't be necessary." He saw Oskar give him a tiny shake of the head. What the heck did that mean – did he want him to keep protesting, or did he want him to give in and accept the impractical offer?

"But I insist," the doctor was saying. "Remember – it's still _my_ heavy water you're handling, Captain. So..."

"Alright then," Udo sighed, hoping he did what Oskar wanted him to do. "Send along your guards if you have to. But hurry along now, will you? It's a long way back to Berlin, and we'd like to get going."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later they drove out of the gate, with a dejected Dr. Streichholz staring after them. He had personally made sure that the barrel with heavy water was properly secured in the back of the truck, and had ordered two of the guards to ride in the back with it, one on the roof, and guards on motorcycles in front, behind and on either side of the truck. It looked as if they were transporting a shipment of diamonds...

"Good work," Oskar said quietly as he turned onto the main road to Düsseldorf.

"But did you really want those guards to come along?" Udo inquired uncertainly. "Honestly, I had no idea what you meant!"

"I'd rather not, of course, but the guy was right," Oskar explained. "A shipment like this _would_ be heavily guarded, so it would only make him suspicious if you kept resisting the offer."

"So what do we do now?"

Oskar shrugged. "Exactly what we planned to do. It'd be way too risky to be on the road with this valuable cargo in the dark, so we'll have to find a safe place to stay the night."

"And what safer place than a POW-camp?" Udo filled in with a grin.

"Exactly." Oskar reciprocated the grin. "And what do you know – there happens to be one only a good dozen miles from here, right along the road from Erkelenz to Berlin!"

* * *

Of course – nothing in life is quite that easy. Instead of a calm ride to Stalag 13, they ended up in the middle of an air raid, with most of their assigned guards scattering into the bushes at the wayside.

But Oskar nudged his 'boss'. "Come on – take charge!" he hissed.

Udo shot him a panicky glare – he'd much rather dive for the bushes himself. But there were still some of Dr. Streichholz's guards within sight and earshot, so clearly he had to say _something_. "Sergeant, go check on our cargo!" was all he could come up with.

Immediately, Oskar lifted the canvas behind him and crawled into the back of the truck. Udo himself got out the normal way – anywhere was better than _in_ a truck during an air raid – and scurried around to the back. Other than the bushes, there was no cover in sight.

"Sergeant!" he called when he got to the back of the truck. Surely Oskar didn't mean to stay in there?

"Jawohl, Herr Kapitän?" he heard Oskar's voice from behind the canvas.

"Come here."

Danzig jumped out the back.

"Give me the map," Udo ordered. Those two guards inside the truck stubbornly remained, and neither the one lying on the roof had fled, so he had to put on a bit of a show, even with bombs falling around his ears.

He struggled nervously to unfold the map, but even then, the wind made it difficult to hold it steady enough to make out its features in the semi darkness. So he knelt down to hold it down on the ground, and Oskar – producing a cigarette lighter that was in constant danger of being extinguished in the wind – followed his example.

"The bombing is much to heavy to continue," Udo stated the obvious through gritted teeth.

"Should we take cover here?" Oskar deliberately asked the silly question to set up for the desired outcome.

And it felt so totally wrong to say this, but... "Dummkopf! With what we are carrying? Do you realize what will happen to us if we do not deliver this cargo to Berlin safely?"

The little flame was blown out just as Danzig shivered, "The Russian front..."

"Ja. We will be just in time for the winter sports."

Danzig snickered, but Udo favoured him with another glare. With bombs still whistling through the air, he was in no mood for jokes. Even though the bombs didn't seem to be aimed in their direction, all he wanted was to get to safety. And the sooner, the better.

"Ah! We're only a few minutes away from a POW-camp. That is where we will go." He folded the map and got up.

"Will our cargo be safe there, Herr Kapitän?"

Udo rolled his eyes at his friend's innocent tone. "The Allies would never bomb their own men." He tapped the map in his hands. "Stalag 13 – the toughest POW-camp in all of Germany!" And under his breath he added, "And stop acting so bloody stupid, will you? That's probably the one thing you _don't_ do very convincingly."

Danzig merely grinned. "Let's go then."

* * *

After having impressed upon the guards that no matter who was asking, they were to reply that they were guarding a mere barrel of water, it was time for the charade that Udo feared the most: meeting Kommandant Klink. It was a scene he had rehearsed for hours in multiple variations with his friend (Oskar could do such an uncanny impersonation of the camp's Kommandant that it was hard to believe he only knew the man from hearsay), and fortunately for him, once he managed to wedge in his opening line, the situation pretty much evolved along the script of one of his practised variations, and ended with him being offered the use of the guest quarters.

"Now we only need to wait until Colonel Hogan takes the bait," he whispered to his friend once he had placed the guards around the truck with machineguns and sandbags and all.

Oskar grinned and nodded towards barracks 2, where Colonel Hogan and some of his men were lounging against the wall. "I don't think we'll need to wait long. Now go and enjoy your guest quarters – I'll handle Colonel Hogan."

And handle him he did. In no time, the hapless American Colonel had 'conned' him into obtaining a sample of the so-called water – and then it grew quiet. It was mainly Kommandant Klink who kept up an avid interest in their cargo, insisting on inspecting it regularly. But apparently, Colonel Hogan had lost interest.

Had he perhaps been unable to establish that this was precious heavy water? From what they'd seen of the man's resources so far, that seemed highly unlikely.

Or were they guarding it a bit _too_ closely for the Colonel to chance it? Considering what he'd seen the man pull off, that was highly unlikely as well – but at least that was something that was easily remedied.

So with Udo pretending to have his ulcer acting up, requiring him to stay put for an extra day or so, Danzig got Schultz to take over his duty of guarding the truck for the second night, and the two friends hid in the guest quarters, taking turns at watching the nearby truck from behind the curtains.

And right as rain, in the darkest hours of the night the Kommandant showed up.

"_Ah, good evening, Sergeant_," Udo heard him say. He peeked around the curtain, and gestured for Oskar to join him.

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Good evening_," came Schultz's voice floating back to them through the open window.

"_I want you to give me a hand with this barrel._"

Udo raised his eyebrows.

"_And what are we going to do with it, Herr Kommandant?_" they heard Schultz's puzzled inquiry.

"_We are going to take it to my office, and then we're going to replace it with another barrel of water._"

"How did _he_ find out?" Udo mouthed annoyed to his friend.

But Danzig merely shrugged, focused as he was on the ongoing discourse outside.

"_But it is supposed to go to Berlin, Herr Kommandant._" Schultz.

"_Now that will be just between you and me, Sergeant._" Klink.

"_I don't know, Herr Kommandant..._" they heard Schultz hesitate.

"Ober_sergeant,_" Klink interrupted him smugly.

"_Obersergeant?_" Schultz practically squealed. "_Thank you! Thank you, Herr Kommandant!_" Only to erupt in excessive hushing noises as the Kommandant's frantic gestures for silence got through to him.

"_Schultz, we must be fast._"

The two struggled to climb into the truck, and Oskar whispered, "I guess Colonel Hogan somehow piqued the Kommandant's interest in the water, because he figures it'd be easier to take it from _him_ than from us."

Udo nodded.

But there were the voices again – slightly muffled through the canvas of the truck, but clearly discernible in the quiet of night.

"_Schultz! Take a look at it first... Did you know that this water comes from Norway? The Fountain of Youth?_"

Oskar's snort drowned out whatever reply Schultz might have given, but Udo's forehead was suddenly creasing.

"_Did you notice a spring in my walk? A little dandruff on the shoulder?_" Klink continued.

"_Oh ja, ja, of course, Herr Kommandant,_" they heard Schultz gush. "_Just last night I said to my wife how wonderful you look._"

"_It's the water,_" Klink announced. "_Schultz, have a little drink._"

"The fools!" Udo muttered, and he stormed outside, leaving his friend in the front seat to see how he was going to improvise handling the man he'd feared dealing with the most.

"_Have another one,_" he heard Kommandant Klink say when he reached the truck.

But Kommandant Klink wasn't the one who was supposed to guard the truck, so, "Sergeant Schultz?" he barked.

Shocked silence – then there was some shuffling in the truck and Kommandant Klink appeared. "Ah, Captain Müller!" He jumped down, followed – more laboriously – by Schultz.

"Colonel Klink! What were you doing?" Captain Müller demanded.

The Kommandant floundered a bit. "Ehm... I was just checking up on our valuable cargo." And to his subordinate, "Dismissed, Schultz."

The Sergeant dutifully saluted and disappeared, and the next thing Udo knew, the Kommandant was sidling up to him. "By the way," the man said under his breath. "I found out about that water."

Udo feigned shock. "You did? From whom?"

"Colonel Hogan."

Of course, who else. "_He_ knows?"

Klink nodded. "The Frenchman told him."

"How did the Frenchman find out?" Bother – he should have asked, 'what Frenchman'...

But the Kommandant was only too eager to show off. "Did you know that Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI used to go to that spa in Norway for the same water? Oh, it does wonders for you!"

Udo rolled his eyes. Colonel Hogan alright... But he'd better put a stop to this poisonous nonsense, before... "Colonel Klink, someone is making a fool of you."

The man's superior smile instantly vanished. "What do you mean?"

A sigh. "I suppose you must know now, but this is _top secret_." He glanced around, and continued in a stage whisper, "This water is for use in nuclear experiments. It is known as 'heavy water'."

All colour drained from the poor Kommandant's face. "I drank some of that water," he choked out, and clutched his throat. "Will I die from it?"

Udo gave him a dark glare. "Only if Berlin finds out." And with that, he stalked off, silently muttering to himself that Colonel Hogan had better come up fast with a plan that did _not_ include poisoning innocent victims...

* * *

Karl watched his friend pace the Kommandant's guest quarters with quiet amusement.

"The fools," Udo muttered over and over again. "The idiots! Getting people to _drink_ heavy water... What is that man thinking?!"

Oskar chuckled, and crossed his arms. "Not everyone is as knowledgeable on the subject as you are. Remember – I wanted to empty that barrel by the wayside."

"Hm." Udo turned to him. "But I can't believe he would have had him drink that whole barrel!"

"I don't think he would have. My guess is he would have gotten it away from him before the day is over."

"But what do we do now? We can't stay here forever."

Oskar shrugged. "Your ulcer will just need an extra day of rest. That's probably why you were so cranky tonight."

"But I have to be back on duty the day after tomorrow!" He shook his head. "This place is going to give me an ulcer for real..."

"Don't worry." Oskar sighed. "Colonel Hogan will also realize that he'll have to act fast now. I'm sure he'll get his hands on that barrel tomorrow – somehow."

* * *

In the end, the solution Colonel Hogan adopted was perfectly simple and straightforward. And Karl played along as was expected of him.

"Feuer!" he yelled as he noticed the smoke billowing out of the Kommandant's office the next morning.

Colonel Hogan was at his side in a flash. "I smell smoke. Fire! Fire! You better get this truck out of here!"

"We cannot move the truck!" Just for fun.

"You know what's going to happen if this truck burns with that barrel in it?"

"You're right. We'd better move the truck."

The Colonel already moved to climb into the driver's seat. "I'll get the truck out of here."

But Karl wasn't going to let him get away that easily. "Halt!" he yelled, and pushed him away. "_I_ will move the truck."

Colonel Hogan sighed. "Alright, have it your way." He began to spout instructions, and Karl followed them diligently. "Further, further... further... Back up slowly, keep going... a little more... Slowly. That's it. Perfect! Here the truck will be safe." He was probably right in front of barracks 2 now.

With a grin, Colonel Hogan tore off to the Kommandant's office to help his men 'rescue' the Kommandant, while Karl redeployed the guards around the truck. He was right – the back of the truck was right up against the wall of barracks 2.

"Mission accomplished," he thought as he caught a glimpse of the barrack's wall mysteriously hinging down.

* * *

"Too much excitement for my ulcer, Herr Kommandant. I'm afraid I'm going to have to brave the road – we're leaving."

Klink came around his desk. "Are you sure, Captain Müller? You know, a glass of warm milk does wonders with an ulcer. You're welcome to stay here as long as you wish – and have a glass of warm milk every night before bed."

"No, thank you, Herr Kommandant. That is very kind of you, but we must be on our way." A silent Hitler salute that was quickly returned, and Captain Müller marched out of the office.

A few minutes later, the truck with the exchanged barrel of water and its ten man escort passed through the gate, and continued on its way to Berlin.

"You handled the Kommandant very well," Oskar praised his comrade.

"Thanks." A grimace. "I just need to forget that he's my boss, too – then I'm fine."

Oskar smiled. "You know," he said with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. "In order to keep up appearances and deflect as much suspicion from Stalag 13 as possible, we're actually going to have to deliver this water to the Weinbach labs in Berlin."

Udo groaned. "I'll never be back in time for duty."

Oskar shrugged. "You can always say you got the dates mixed up."

"Easy for you to say."

Actually, that was exactly what Corporal Langenscheidt was planning to say himself.

They drove on in silence for a while.

"I just hope for one thing," Udo said at last.

Oskar glanced at him. "What's that?"

A sigh. "We know that Colonel Hogan has checked out all the guards' files, so he knows our backgrounds and stuff. I just hope he won't come to _me_ for a safe way to destroy that heavy water..."


	30. Fear

"Remember, Karl?" Grasping at straws in her fear to lose him, Maryse had by now resorted to talking to him constantly – to try and force his mind to stay in the here and now. With her. To _not_ give him the chance to leave her...

She dabbed his face and his neck again with the cold wet cloth. "Remember that night in the shed? Our one special night together? I know it didn't start that well, but..."

* * *

"Okay, people, let's get started."

At Danzig's admonition, the last cups were drained of their Ersatz coffee, and the small chatting groups converged into one that was focused on their leader in the center of the room.

"Everyone here? No."

"Helga isn't here yet," Udo pointed out what Danzig just noticed himself, too.

"Shall I go and see if she's okay?" young Fabian immediately offered.

A smile tugged at the corners of Danzig's mouth. "I think we can give her a few more minutes." Boys of that age were so transparent... "Alright, let's get started. Free improvisation – you know the rules. Setting: the Wild West. Hasso – the sheriff. Udo, Karsten, Fabian – criminals. Franz – a dog." A snicker welled up from the group. "Emma – the school teacher. Maryse – behind the bar. Karl and Heike – passing tourists. I'm the wild card to jump in wherever there's an opening. Go ahead!"

It was one of their favourite games, and one that honed their improvisation skills, for you had to come up with both your lines _and_ your actions in immediate response to what the others did. They still kept up the old rule – 'anyone who laughs at an inappropriate moment is out' – but by now they had gotten so good at it, that one of these games regularly occupied them for an entire evening without anyone getting expelled.

This time however, Danzig cut it short after a good half hour. "Udo, was Helga at the office today?" He _knew_ she had been of course, but Danzig wasn't to know that.

Udo's answer, too, was in the affirmative, his sudden frown mirroring Danzig's.

"Shall I...?" Fabian already started again, and Oskar nodded.

"But whatever you find, come back here right away, okay?" he ordered.

Fabian nodded, grabbed his cap and his jacket and ran out. And as soon as the door fell shut behind him, a tense silence descended on the group. They had a strict rule – both for everyone's safety as well as everyone's peace of mind – that if you couldn't make it to their meeting, you'd let somebody know. If only so the others wouldn't have to worry about you being picked up by the Gestapo.

Helga had had to miss out on meetings before. But she had always told Udo, or someone else if she hadn't been able to contact Udo in camp that day.

So why had she failed to do so this time? What had happened between half past five when she had left Stalag 13, and half past seven when their drama group started?

Two hours. Two short hours. But how much trouble one could get into these days in a measly two hours...

Karl drew in a deep breath to try and calm his jittery nerves. If Helga had been picked up... She knew everyone in their group, and was aware – at least to some degree – of Colonel Hogan's set-up as well. This could get real ugly, really fast. But until they knew anything for certain...

"Alright, everyone, no need to expect the worst. It may all turn out perfectly innocent. So let's not panic until we have solid reason to, okay?"

It was obvious that he fooled no one, but if they were already under surveillance, the first thing to do was to keep up appearances.

"Karsten, perhaps you could watch the door – just to be on the safe side." The older man quickly complied, and Oskar continued, "The rest of you: estafette improvisation!"

It was another game that engaged them all. But unlike the first game of the evening, their heart wasn't really in it, and it showed. They all kept glancing at the door, willing for Fabian to return with news – or perhaps even bringing their friend along in person. But Helga lived at the edge of town, on the road to the prison camp. It'd be twenty minutes at least for Fabian to get there and back.

And finally, there he was – totally out of breath, and his eyes wide with fright. "She's gone!" he squeaked in between two panting breaths. "Disappeared!"

"What? How?" Shocked, the group gathered around him as he sank down on a low stool.

But there was Hasso, the calm, sturdy miller. "Calm down, son. What did you find."

Fabian pulled off his cap. "I rang the doorbell, and after a while, an elderly lady opened the door. She was the landlady."

"Yes. And what did she say?"

"She said... she said Helga had an unexpected visitor today."

"What kind of visitor?"

"I don't know – I didn't ask. But they were waiting for her when she came home, she said. And the lady checked. They were gone. And Helga had left all her stuff, but she'd left the key in the door and the room was a bit of a mess, she said. Like they'd been searching for something." He shuddered involuntarily in the icy silence that followed.

"Anything else?" Oskar asked at last.

Fabian shook his head. "Do you think...?" He didn't finish the question, but everybody knew what he was asking.

Feeling everyone's eyes on him, Oskar took a deep breath. "Yes, this sounds serious," he said quietly. "And you all know what to do: keep a low profile, don't do _anything_ that'd attract attention, and keep an eye on each other. And if you want to get out of here for a while, make sure one of us knows, and that you give the people around you a plausible reason for your absence."

Nods all around, and he continued even quieter, "And if you _do_ get picked up, try to keep your mouth shut as long as you can. No one will hold it against you if you do break under torture, but you can rest assured that we'll be doing everything in our power to get you out as soon as possible. And we have Papa Bear to back us up on that. For no matter what they might want you to believe – we're a team. We're friends, and we're not letting each other down. Understood?"

He looked around at his friends' faces – so familiar, so dear they all were to him. Broad-faced Hasso, sturdy Karl, young Franz, friendly Emma, pokerface Karsten, Fabian, still catching his breath, Heike's motherly features, Udo, his best friend, and Maryse... Maryse... Oh God, he couldn't _bear_ the thought of her in the clutches of someone like that Colonel Feldkamp... He had to... She _had_ to...!

He gulped. "I really, really hope we'll be able to see each other again and continue our fight. But in case we won't... I want you all to know that it's been an honour working with you – each and every one of you. No matter how small your part was, we could not have done what we did without you. You can be proud of yourself, for we _know_ that we've done the right thing. Don't we."

Everyone agreed – scared, but sure of themselves, and sure of the choice they had made to take a stand against the Nazis.

"And what about Helga?" Udo asked in a small voice.

"I'll contact Papa Bear tonight. This concerns him as much as us."

Udo nodded, his lips pursed. "Let me know if I can do anything."

"Me too," Fabian added, and several of the others nodded, too.

"I will," Oskar promised. "Now go home – or wherever you want to go tonight. Be careful, watch your back, and... God go with you," he finished quietly.

"And with you," Emma whispered, touching his cheek.

Without a word, everyone took their coats and hats and filed out of the parish hall, out into the scary unknown of the night. Only Maryse remained – her eyes, scared but determined, glued to her boy-friend's face.

But he just stood there, in the middle of the hall, seeing things that were well beyond the wooden walls around him.

_Josel, Lena, Benno, Berthold, Kläre, Sanne, Tobias, Dieter, Uwe, Volker... Machine guns rattling. His friends, dropping to the ground. Blood everywhere. The nightmarish Gestapo dungeons. "Don't do anything stupid." Josel. Father Werner. Schattner. "They shot most of them this morning"... Oh God, not again!_

"Karl?" Maryse ventured, taking a hesitant step towards him.

His eyes focused on her, and he shook his head. "Don't call me that here."

She made no reply. Instead, she took his trembling hands in hers and stated authoritatively, emphasizing every syllable, "It wasn't your fault."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists.

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated slowly. "Now let's get home and warn Colonel Hogan. The sooner we can get her out of there, the better, right?"

He let out a quavery sigh, and let go of her hands. "I know. I'm just... so..."

"Scared," she completed quietly for him, and he nodded almost against his will. "We all are, Karl. But we have to do something. You said so yourself: we're friends and we're not letting each other down."

He nodded, and suddenly he refound himself and took charge again. "Then let's go." He grabbed her coat and helped her into it, then his own. It was work of mere seconds to turn off the lights and lock up the parish hall, and the next moment they stood outside in the pitchblack of night.

A few large, threatening conifers loomed to the side of the building. Harmless? Or was someone watching them from behind there?

Maryse shivered – more from fear than from the cold on this April evening. Sometimes she could even find joy in the black-out regulations, for they caused the majestic nightsky to show itself in all its glory. But there were no stars tonight, and the blacked-out, dead-looking buildings around them seemed to haunt them, following their every move with thousands of evil eyes.

"Come on," Karl said quietly, and he hooked her arm through his. "I'll walk you home."

He didn't take the usual route though. Instead of going through the center, he chose his way by the wide open avenues of the richer part of the town. Avenues that were absolutely deserted at this hour, so that every odd little sound made her heart jump into her throat. And then the idea that someone – someone with bad intentions – might be following their every step...

Karl stopped every now and then in the blackest black of a shadow to listen. There were sounds everywhere, hissing, shuffling, rustling – and occasional footsteps that freaked the hell out of her. But at long last he whispered, "I don't think we're being followed. Let's go home." He squeezed her hand encouragingly, and finally set off in the direction of the Richterstraße near the town center.

When they finally reached her home, she felt absolutely drained, but there was no time to indulge in rest. Quickly and thoroughly, she and Karl put up the black-out curtains and drew the normal curtains as well before turning on the light. The table was pushed to the side, the mat folded over, Karl pulled up the trapdoor, and down they went into the crawl space of the plumbing cellar. By the glow of a single candle, Maryse powered up the radio. She put on the headset, double checked the frequency and tapped their recognition code for Papa Bear.

A moment later, the reply came. _"Papa Bear here. Go ahead, Ridinghood."_

But it wasn't Papa Bear's usual calm and reassuring voice. Unsure, she glanced up at Karl. "It doesn't sound like Papa Bear," she whispered.

"But it's the right frequency?"

She checked again. "Yes."

He frowned. "Tell him we need an urgent meeting with Papa Bear, but no details," Karl decided.

She nodded. "Chameleon requests urgent meeting with Papa Bear. Repeat: urgent."

"_Sorry, Papa Bear is out. Will pass on the message as soon as he's back. Wait for him at K6 after 0200 hours. Can't give you an exact time - sorry."_

"K6 after 0200 hours. Acknowledged. Over and out." She pulled off the headset and turned off the power.

"What did he say?" Karl wanted to know.

She repeated it for him, and her frown deepened. "But it definitely was _not_ Papa Bear. His English was perfect, but... he was much younger," she decided.

They climbed out of the crawl space and put the room back in order before Karl made a reply. "I can imagine Colonel Hogan has more than one radioman. No one can be manning the radio twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It could be mere coincidence that you always happen to talk to the same guy."

"Maybe." Maryse wasn't convinced. Especially not since... "But with Helga picked up... How do we know Colonel Hogan hasn't been picked up as well, and now the Gestapo is manning their radio to track down as many people as they can?"

Karl remained silent – he simply didn't have an answer. For Maryse was right: he could be walking straight into a trap tonight. On the other hand, he needed to talk to Colonel Hogan if they were ever to try and get Helga out – if only to save their own skin. It was a perfectly deadly dilemma alright...

But he suddenly came to a decision. "I'm going. When I've got the choice of hiding at home waiting to be picked up, or taking the chance of going out to meet someone who might be able to prevent just that – I know what to do."

Maryse nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. Karl, this is the first place where they'll come looking for me! I'm not staying here tonight!"

"Well, you can stay at my place then. Nobody but you knows where Oskar Danzig lives, so you should be safe there."

"No, I want to come with you. I just want to make sure you're alright."

"And maybe walk straight into a Gestapo trap with me? No way. You're staying home."

"I'm coming with you."

"Maryse...!"

"Karl, _please_!" Suddenly the tears were streaming down her face, and his irritation with her instantly melted away.

"Hey..." Gently, he reached out to her. "Don't cry. Please? I know you're scared, but I just want to keep you..."

"I just want to see with my own eyes that you're _alright_," she cut in, brushing at her tears. "For every second I can _see_ that, my mind doesn't have to conjure up all kinds of unimaginable horrors happening to you at that very second. So _please_, let me stay with you tonight, Karl?"

He pulled her in his arms. "Alright, I didn't think of that," he gave in. He rubbed her back a little to calm her down. "It's just that when you come with me, _I'll_ be the one worried sick about _you_ instead."

"But at least as long as I'm alright, you can _see_ that I'm alright," she countered rather quavery.

And he sighed. "Okay then. Although I don't like it one bit, I do see your point about imaginative horrors. Especially tonight. So I guess it would be better this time if we'd stay together indeed." He kissed her hair. "But I think we'd better get ready. Like you said, this would be one of the first places where they'd come looking for us."

* * *

The practical demands of getting ready for a night in the woods – and more perhaps even the momentary outlet her fear had found in her tears – pretty much restored Maryse's usual pragmatic equilibrium. She put Karl to work in the kitchen to make them some sandwiches, and went up to her room to change into something more suitable for a night in a shed. Including the slender Fabian's tight black trousers that he usually left at her place.

Karl frowned when he saw her in those, but she was quick to head off an argument. "If _you_ can dress up as a woman for years for the good cause, then I can wear trousers for one night for the same reason. They're bound to be a lot warmer than a skirt and stockings."

He didn't press the point, and gratefully accepted the knitted woollen sweater she handed him. One of her own of course, but it fitted him well enough for the night.

A dark green knitted hat was found to hide her blondish hair, and then they stuck their hands in the coal-hod to blacken their faces and were ready to go.

It was a hair-raising expedition through the darkest lanes and alleyways of the town to reach the relative safety of the woods. It was well past the civilian curfew by now, and several times they had to duck away for passing patrols. But they reached K6 – a small forester's shed not far from Stalag 13 – without running into any real trouble.

They didn't go in though. It was still hours before they could expect Papa Bear to show up. And Karl reckoned that if this _was_ a trap, they'd better stay outside the shed to keep an eye on their surroundings – and perhaps see or hear the men when they'd be arriving to surround the shed.

So they huddled down behind a fallen treetrunk instead, and waited and watched.

In the distance, they could make out the ever moving searchlights of Stalag 13 through the trees. It was an oddly comforting sight in the pitchblack of the pine forest.

Maryse sought Karl's hand in the dark.

"Scared?" he whispered.

She nodded. "But at least I know you're still in one piece."

He smiled a little, and squeezed her hand.

They were silent again for a long while, listening to the rustle of the trees overhead and all the small, irregular sounds of a wood by night around them. Some of the dogs far away in the camp started a barking concert – two or three from the town behind them replied.

But nothing happened. No human figures came creeping through the bushes, no commanding officer was seen deploying his men around the shed, no cars were heard on the nearby Hamelburg Road.

"You know," Maryse whispered at last. "Maybe Colonel Hogan was out tonight to rescue Helga already. He could have heard the news from someone else."

"Let's hope so," Karl muttered. At least it'd be a good reason to stop berating himself for lying here doing nothing when he could have marched into Gestapo headquarters himself to get her out right now. Working together with Papa Bear sure had its advantages, but in a case like this, that concerned them both, it would have been easier and faster if they did not have to coordinate their actions with the American Colonel. Still, going in there when Colonel Hogan had already gotten her out would be suicide of course.

He let out a sigh. If only the man would come and tell them the score...

He peered at his watch. Maryse saw the movement and asked, "What time is it?"

"Twenty past one." He stretched his back for a moment, carefully staying below the height of the trunk. "I guess we might as well go into the shed. They would have shown up by now if they were setting a trap for us. And it's getting a little chilly lying here."

"I'd rather catch pneumonia than face the Gestapo."

Karl grimaced. "I agree. But we'll have to get closer to that shed soon, or we might miss Colonel Hogan altogether."

Nevertheless, they stayed put behind their treetrunk until it was nearly 2 a.m., when they stiffly climbed to their feet and stealthily crept from tree to tree until they reached the dark shadows to the side of the shed.

"Okay, here we can't miss him," Karl breathed. He sat down with his back against the plank wall, and pulled Maryse down next to him.

They were sitting directly on the woodland soil now, and she shivered involuntarily with the cold seeping up through her clothes. Karl noticed, and put his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest. She shifted a bit to get more comfortable, but even in the security of his arms she couldn't relax. Not in this wood full of dangers, where every snapping twig could mean the arrival of Colonel Hogan – or trouble.

They watched the distant dance of the searchlights in silence. From there would the night's outcome approach them – in the best case it'd be Colonel Hogan himself, telling them that they had already gotten poor Helga away from the Gestapo; in the worst case an impostor who'd take _them_ to Gestapo headquarters for 'intensive questioning' instead. And they both jumped when out of nowhere suddenly a gruff voice addressed them. "Danzig?"

Karl and Maryse scrambled to their feet. They hadn't seen or heard anyone approaching, but from behind the nearest tree, a dark male figure appeared. Maryse felt her heart in her throat as the dark figure came closer, and unconsciously, she stepped half behind Karl.

"I see you brought yourself some charming company tonight," the man chuckled in perfect English, and she saw a flash of white teeth as he looked her over and then cocked his head. "I was expecting to see someone with high heels and a tight girdle though."

The recognition code!

She heard Karl take a deep breath and start with, "One does not wan... One does not when... wear when's... one's disguises wan..."

"When they are no longer disguises," she completed for him. Clearly, he needed some more practice on that English tongue twister. Or was it sheer nerves?

"Indeed." The dark man smiled at her – she heard the silent amusement in his voice. He was fortyish, as far as she could determine in the dark light, with something of a devil-may-care attitude over him. But he forced his eyes away from her and turned his attention back to Karl. And instantly his demeanor became serious. "What's the problem?" In German. Obviously he knew that Karl's English left much to be desired.

She listened as Karl started to outline this evening's discoveries regarding Helga, but as soon as he mentioned the Gestapo, Colonel Hogan held up his hand.

"Hold it right there. I know exactly where Fräulein Helga is. I personally put her and her mother on a plane tonight. They should be halfway to England by now."

"To England?" Maryse burst out, totally forgetting the need to be quiet. "What? Why?"

Colonel Hogan shrugged a little. "Let's just say it's a personal favour from me. She's gone to join her father in the U.S. I'm sure she'll be alright."

"But..." Karl broke off, not sure what to say, but Maryse was indignant enough to take over. "Then why didn't she _say_ something? We've been worried sick about her all night, and expecting the Gestapo to pick _us_ up any moment, too!"

"It was a real last minute arrangement. I suspect that in the rush, she forgot to let you know she was leaving." He frowned. "I had no idea she worked with you?"

"She was our main supplier of official stationery – to forge papers and passes and stuff," Karl explained. "And you could say she's an old friend of ours as well." He let out a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. "But right now I'm just glad that she's safe. Which means so are we – relatively speaking."

"Exactly. And I'm really sorry for the stress this little arrangement caused you guys. I assure you that was never our intention – and I'm sure it wasn't Fräulein Helga's either."

"No, but under the circumstances, I think we can forgive her for the oversight," Maryse sighed. "I mean, if you suddenly get to go to America..." She frowned. "I knew she _wanted_ to go to America, but I had no idea her father lived there?"

Colonel Hogan shook his head. "Long story. I'd rather save that for another time if you don't mind. And if there's nothing else you needed to see me about...?"

Karl shook his head.

"Then I'd like to go and hit the sack for a few hours." He wriggled his eyebrows mischievously at her. "Lovely to meet you, my dear. Now take care of yourselves, eh?"

Within moments, he had disappeared in the dark, leaving Karl and Maryse to stand by the shed.

"Boy, what a relief," he sighed at last. He pulled her in his arms and for a few minutes they just stood there, relishing the respite they had gotten from the slaughterhouse.

But at long last Maryse looked up. "Shouldn't we go and tell the others?"

Another sigh. "At this hour of the night? I'd love to put their minds at rest, too, but if we go now, there's every chance that _we'd_ be picked up instead. That's not going to do anyone any good. I'm afraid we'd better wait till daybreak."

"You mean stay here?"

"Yeah, why not? In the shed? It turns out that our worries were for nought, so we know again that it's as safe as it usually is."

Maryse hesitated.

"And I don't know about you, but I'm dead-beat."

Now that he mentioned it, she, too, suddenly felt she could sleep for a week. "But I don't know if..."

A tired twinkle appeared in his eye. "I won't tell anyone if you won't. And I promise I won't touch you – well, no more than I usually do. But you've never before objected to being kissed and lying in my arms, so... Please?"

She couldn't help it – she had to laugh. If only to let go of some of the tension. "Alright then. If you _promise_...?" She was teasing – she knew him well enough to know that he'd never do anything like that.

"Every inch a gentleman," he vowed, and proffered her his arm.

They entered the small shed together, and Karl – who had been here before – sought his way around the forester's old tools to the back of the hut. There was a generous amount of hay in the corner there, obviously to accommodate escaping prisoners.

He shuffled the hay around a bit, before lying down on it and inviting her into his arms. And after some trial and error, they settled down with her back against his chest.

"You know," Maryse said dreamily as she nestled a little closer to him. "Many years from now, we're going to have to confess to our children that the very first time their Mum and Dad slept together, it was on a pile of hay in an old forester's shed."

She felt his chuckle against her shoulderblades. "I thought this was to be our little secret."

"Well, by the time we celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I doubt anyone would mind anymore to hear about this little adventure."

She felt him nuzzle her neck; then kiss her. "I love you, Maryse."

She turned a bit in his arms to be able to look at him. All she could make out though in the dark were the familiarly shaped shadows of his features. And she smiled. "I love you, too." There was not a doubt in her heart – she knew she did.

And on the hay in that old shed, lovingly gazing at the loved one in their arms, exhaustion finally overtook them, and they slept the sleep of the just.

* * *

.

.

_Author's note: if you'd like to read Helga's take on the situation, see the story '_Helga's Hero_'._

_Also (June 2013): I have backdated this chapter a bit to earlier in 1943. I know the events in the present of '_Helga's Hero_' take place between August 1943 and January 1944, but I've come to realize that this won't do to have it fit in with '_Chameleon Fever'_, considering how much still happened in the series_ after_ she left. I'll backdate Helga's story soon, too. _


	31. Preparations

"Hilda _Schopenhauer_?"

Udo had received the news of Helga's emigration to America with stoic equanimity. But despite the fact that Helga had never allowed him to be any more with her than 'just friends', he had been unusually quiet for the past week. The news of her replacement however suddenly stirred him out of his reticence. "Hilda _Schopenhauer_ is going to be Klink's new secretary?"

Oskar raised an eyebrow. "I take it you know her then? Good. Papa Bear wants to know if she can be trusted to help them like Helga did."

"I wouldn't trust her any farther than I can see her – and not even _that_ far!" Udo burst out.

That got him some curious glances from the others. But it took some prompting to get Udo to explain his harsh judgement of the lady in question.

"She was engaged to be married to my brother. It must be what – ten years ago or so. But one night, when she was supposed to be at the charity sewing circle, he saw her come out of the cinema all smooching over a colleague of his. It turned out she had never once attended the sewing circle, and used it as a smokescreen to go out with this other guy instead. In fact, she had been cheating on him from the beginning. So my brother broke off their engagement, and from mutual acquaintances we've heard she's been married twice since. But if she's looking for a job and using her maiden name again, I guess that last guy found out about her extracurricular activities and ditched her, too. Serves her right," he finished bitterly.

His explanation was met with contemplative silence, until Heike spoke up to corroborate his story. "Well, to be honest, I don't know the girl personally. But rumour has it that she's a bit of a gold-digger."

"She's the biggest tart in all of Hamelburg," Udo muttered.

Oskar nodded pensively. "It's not the kind of information Papa Bear was looking for, I think, but we'll certainly pass it on. Who knows – maybe she intends to go after the Kommandant? Or else all those visiting generals? If he knows of her character in advance, I'm sure Papa Bear could turn it to his advantage. Question remains though," he continued. "Do we know anything about where her loyalties lie?"

Heike shook her head, and Udo muttered that she'd probably be loyal to whoever offered her the most.

Oskar gave his friend an understanding nod. "Okay, we'll simply pass on the info we do have then. At least Papa Bear will have some idea of what kind of woman he's dealing with. Now, to get back to our drama games..."

* * *

After having made sure that Colonel Hogan's Engländer caught sight of the remote controlled baby tank, Maryse headed back to town.

But the town was not the same as when she had left it a few short hours ago. For that nearby bombing raid that had come so conveniently for Karl and the other Karl to have the testing of the tank moved to Stalag 13 had hit the town!

Appalled, she stared at the ruins of the town's library and the flurry of activity going on around it. Of all the places of military interest in the area, they had chosen to pulverize the library!

'Good thing it was past six o'clock – at least there won't be any casualties,' it went through her mind. And she sighed. Because a bombing is never entirely without casualties. And in this case, the casualties were her job and Frau Schreiber's, the librarian.

Oh well, she'd just have to find a new one. That was one thing the war was actually good at: creating job opportunities, even for women. With so many men away at the front, she'd have a new job in no time.

But suddenly she began to hurry past the rubble and down the street. For if the library in the town's center had been hit, who says they hadn't hit...?

But no, the Richterstraße was still intact. Thank goodness...

She unlocked her front door and stepped into the little hall – only to be greeted by the ticking of the hall clock.

She hung up her coat and hat, and stopped the clock. For it was no ordinary clock – in fact, it was a brilliant piece of ingenuity from Udo's hand, serving as her warning signal that someone (usually Papa Bear) was trying or had tried to contact her on the radio.

She glanced outside. It was still too light to put up the black-out curtains without raising suspicion. Another ten, fifteen minutes maybe. Papa Bear would have to wait – she was not going to put herself in jeopardy for such a small gain of time, no matter how important the message was.

Instead, she started to unpack the leftovers from the picnic basket she had brought along to entice Colonel Hogan's man to stay with her at that strategic point looking out over the Hamelburg Road. She grimaced. She got the impression that the picnic basket had had very little to do with keeping the Engländer at her side. The things she had to put up with for her country these days!

Perhaps she should suggest to Karl that they'd find another younger lady to join them. Especially for tasks like this, it would be a blessing. Being the youngest female in their group by far (even though at nearly thirty-two, she wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore either), the task of seducing men for their schemes automatically fell to her now that Helga was gone. And she hated it with a vengeance, no matter how much Karl remonstrated that she was merely playing a part. She simply was no actress, and one of these days, the guy she was supposed to seduce was going to notice the shudders going down her back when she had to kiss him.

But by now, dusk had seriously set in, so she put away the basket and began the minute task of putting up the black-out curtains. Then pushing the table aside, roll up the carpet and down into the crawl space she went.

Powering up the radio was the work of a minute, and as soon as she sent their recognition code, Papa Bear responded.

"_Good to hear from you, Ridinghood. Papa Bear would like to talk to the Chameleon. Is he available tonight?"_

"No, he's not." She glanced at her watch by the light of the candle. "I should be able to get a message through to him though. I can't promise he'll be able to make it tonight, but he should have enough time to organize it for tomorrow."

"_Alright. Tell him to rendezvous at K12 tonight at 2200 hours. If he can't make it tonight, M2 tomorrow at the same time."_

Maryse did a quick mental check. K12 was close to Karl's home, and M2 was on the other side of camp. "He'll have a better chance of making it tonight if you could rendezvous closer to town," she told Papa Bear.

"_Alright, let me check."_ A momentary silence, then, _"Ridinghood, how does F2 sound?"_

"Much better. F2 at 2200 hours tonight. If he can't make that, I'll get back to you."

"_F2, 2200 hours tonight. Roger. Over and out."_

* * *

"Major Beckenbauer?"

Karl looked up in surprise as the Hauserhof bellboy suddenly appeared at his elbow.

"Telephone call for you at reception, sir." The boy disappeared as swiftly as he had come, and Karl raised an eyebrow at his companion. "I wonder what that was about."

The other Karl's mouth was set in a thin line. "It could be a trap. I'll cover you."

Karl nodded, and slid off the barstool. And with the other Karl following a few meters behind him, he walked down to the reception. The receptionist was busy with another guest, but he gestured invitingly for him to pick up the phone. So Karl did.

"Hello? Major Beckenbauer here. Heil Hitler."

"_Hans, it's me – Jülchen,"_ a voice he'd recognize out of thousands said in his ear. _"And yes, heil Hitler."_

"What's up?" A wink to Karl that everything was okay.

"_Your uncle Behrend called tonight. And he'd really like to see you, too. Would you have time to come and say hello?"_

"Um..." Karl frowned. "I might be able to get away for an hour or so. Where can I find him?"

"_He's staying with friends, at the Eichmannstraße, number 2F. He said you could call on him until ten o'clock."_

"F for Friedrich?"

"_Yes, that's right."_

"Okay, I'll do my best. Thanks for calling, Liebchen, and give my love to Gisela and Martina. I'll be home in a couple of days, okay?"

"_Okay. Be careful, my love. I'll be waiting for you."_

"Love you. Bye."

With a jerk of his head, Karl told his friend to follow him up to their room.

"What's the matter?" the older man asked as soon as the door was closed behind them.

They had no idea if the room was bugged, so, "That was my wife. My uncle Behrend wants to see me tonight. But I can hardly show up in this outfit, can I."

The older Karl grimaced. "That could lead to complications tomorrow, yes."

"So if I can borrow your greatcoat and hat? And then..." He pulled a small box from his pocket and sat down at the dressing table. A few lines of make-up was all it took to have a completely different man look back at him from the mirror. "I expect I'll be back around eleven. And I want you to be in the lobby after 10.30. I don't know how alert the reception is here, but if necessary, you'll have to persuade them to let me in."

Karl nodded. "No problem, I'll be there." He hesitated. "Shouldn't we swap papers as well?"

The younger Karl shook his head. "You better keep your own. We know how interested the Gestapo is in hotel guests, so... I'm simply going to have to chance it myself that they won't stop me."

He donned himself with his friend's greatcoat and hat, and mockingly saluted him. "See you later, my friend. And stay away from trouble for me."

The elder man grinned. "The same goes for you. Take care."

* * *

F2 was the codename for a boulder in the curve of the Hamel, just where the brook had some rapids due to a few large stones in its narrow bed. With the gurgling of the water drowning out every sound, and surrounded by open beechwood where it was difficult to hide, it was the perfect place for conversations that were not meant to be overheard.

Carefully, Karl climbed down to the riverbank, and walked the last meters to their rendezvous point. Was Colonel Hogan there yet? It had to be close to ten o'clock, so... Slowly, he moved closer to the boulder. And peeked around it. Indeed!

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I was expecting to see someone with high heels and a tight girdle." That part of the code was so much easier...

The Colonel, all in black, jerked around. "Danzig! You devil, you got me!" But he grinned. "Oh well. One doesn't wear one's disguises when they're no longer disguises, right?"

"Right." Karl came around the boulder and cautiously seated himself on one of the smaller stones. "What's up?" he asked, switching to German.

"I've got a big favour to ask. Would you be able to go to Paris for me?"

Danzig's eyebrows shot up. "To Paris?"

"Yes. We had a visiting big shot in camp a few days ago, who was carrying a detailed map of the rocket launching sites around Paris. It's too far out for us obviously, but the French Underground could do some nice little sabotage there. And the sooner, the better. Would you be able to deliver a copy of that map to Paris?"

Danzig frowned as he tried to oversee the implications of the request. "I can't get away right now, but I should be able to leave by Friday – Saturday the latest. Is that good enough?"

"Good enough for me," Colonel Hogan nodded. "I certainly won't be able to get to Paris myself any time soon." He sighed. "Pity though, isn't it."

But Danzig stayed on the topic. "And do you have a specific address, a specific person for me to deliver this map to?"

"Yep. I'll provide you with an address, a recognition code and an introduction letter in code, so they know you're coming from me and that they can trust you."

"And what about a map – do you have one I can borrow? I've never been to Paris, and my French is even worse than my English, so..." He grimaced with embarrassment.

But Colonel Hogan grinned in return. "Mine isn't much to write home about either. 'Bonjour' and 'merci' and 'mon amour' – that's about it." They chuckled together, and Colonel Hogan continued, "But yes, I can get you a map. Probably even directions to the address in question. Anything else?"

Danzig thought for a moment – then shook his head. "I think that's all. Except that I'll tell my people to lay low in my absence, so I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from contacting them. Unless there's a real emergency of course."

"Understood. Can you meet me here again tomorrow, same time, for the handover?"

Danzig shook his head. "Difficult. But I can ask one of my people. They'll pass it on to me."

"Alright." He frowned. "That was the code about the runaway goblins, wasn't it?"

Karl snorted. "I wonder who comes up with these things? I bet they were stone drunk that day." He got up. "But I've got to get going. Good night, Papa Bear. And I'll do my best to get that map safely to Paris."

* * *

The development of the remote controlled baby tank went successfully down the drain (though Karl thought they could have done without it using them for target practice), the two original military supervisors attached to the project had been shipped off to the sub with a few escapees, and that evening found him and Maryse in the cellar under his house, surrounded by boxes.

"But why would you want to do away with these things?" Maryse asked, delicately fingering a diamond studded brooch.

"Because I'll soon be running out of funds. A corporal's pay is okay to live on, but it doesn't allow for the kind of activities we engage in."

The diamonds sparkled in the light of the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. "But it's such a beautiful treasure... And I don't see why you should be the one paying for everything. We can all pitch in, I'm sure."

"Perhaps you can, but I consider it first and foremost _my_ responsibility, simply because I've got the means for it without it hurting me in any way. This lot is worth thousands, maybe even a million marks. And face it – I'm not going to wear that stuff anymore, so why keep it? I might as well put it to good use and sell it for the good cause."

Maryse sighed. She hated the idea of Karl doing away with his little nest egg, but she had to admit he was right. "But couldn't you at least keep _some_ of it? Who knows what the currencies are going to do after the war."

"That's why I'm asking _you_ to pick out a few things that you'd like to have for yourself. Or maybe..."

Maryse looked up when he fell silent. "Maybe what?"

"Maybe I'll just keep a few myself, too. You never know when they might come in handy."

She eyed him quizzically as he knelt down beside her and began to sort through the many pieces of jewelry. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see."

He wouldn't say anything else on the subject, but she did notice that where her own preference tended to be for the more modest bracelets and brooches, Karl's definitely gravitated towards the more garish and extravagant items in the collection. What was he up to?

He refused to explain himself however, and once they had made their choice, they packed everything up and went back upstairs.

"Say, Maryse," Karl began as soon as they entered the living-room. "Why don't you come with me tomorrow?"

Her eyes grew wide. "To _Paris_?"

"Yes. After all, you don't have a job to keep you here at the moment. And what could be more innocent than a dashing young captain bringing his girl-friend along on his furlough to Paris?"

Her face fell a bit. "You mean you just want me along to have a good cover story?"

"No – no, not at all!" He took her hands in his. "It'd be a nice side effect, yes, but I'd just love to have you all to myself for a week or so. For once I've delivered that map and sold the jewelry, we can turn it into a real holiday – go see the sights and everything. With no guard duty or job or sabotage or whatever to interfere. Just you and me."

The heavenly smile had already returned on her face before he was halfway through with his plea. "In that case I'd _love_ to come," she assured him, quickly pulling him in for a long, lingering kiss. And her eyes beamed at him when she finally continued, "And when I go over to Emma's tomorrow to pick up your papers, I'll ask her to draw up some papers for me, too." She sighed longingly. "Imagine going to _Paris_..." Paris, the city of romance... Who knows what might happen when two lovers went on holiday there? At the very least Karl would have plenty opportunity to finally ask _the_ question – on top of the Eiffel tower perhaps, or under the Arc de Triomphe, or on one of those picturesque bridges over the Seine... For ever since Helga had drawn attention to it, it had bothered her to no end that she and Karl regularly _talked_ about marriage and knew from each other that indeed they _wanted_ to get married, but that he had never actually _asked_ her to marry him. And a decent marriage proposal was well the least a girl could expect from her suitor, wasn't it?

Besides, there was a good chance that a city like Paris had the facilities to let people get married in secret. So why couldn't she and Karl...? Sure, they'd still have to live separately back here in Hamelburg to protect his cover, but at least they'd _be_ married. And with their friends from the drama club alias resistance group they certainly could be open about it. She could already hear their surprised exclamations and happy well-wishing when upon their return from Paris they told them she and Oskar had gotten married...

Which brought her mind to something else. "Where will we be staying?" she asked, rubbing her nose against his neck, ending in a little kiss.

Unaware of his girl-friend's romantic dreams for his immediate future, Karl produced a leaflet from his pocket while his other hand stroked her soft blond hair out of her face. "Major Beckenbauer picked this up in the Kommandant's office the other day: Hôtel La Fontaine in the Rue Colbert. Apparently it's for German military personnel only, so we should be safe there from vengeful French guests."

Maryse snuggled up to him. "I'm not military though."

"Fortunately not, no." He nuzzled her hair, and ended up kissing the top of her ear. But then he pulled away a little. "But as long as you're with Captain Dehner, I'm sure they'll let you stay there, too. We'll just ask for adjacent rooms."

"With a connecting door?" Maryse purred mischievously.

Karl merely grimaced as he untangled himself from her and stepped back. He had no idea what she was doing to him tonight, but ever since he'd asked her to come to Paris with him, she was exuding an almost bewitching influence over him. It was certainly a _pleasant_ influence, but he felt he was beginning to lose control, and before they'd do something that they'd only regret later on... Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take her along to Paris after all, but there was no way he could bring himself to disappoint her now.

And they could both do with a break, with the constant tension and fear they'd been living in for years on end. Just get away from it all for a while. Let the war be the war and give in to their personal wishes for a change. And since most (if not all) of his wishes would be greatly enhanced with Maryse at his side...

He sighed. He'd just have to keep his head where she was concerned, for some things would still have to remain beyond their reach for a while longer. So...

"Come on, I'll walk you home. It's getting late."

The down-to-earth activity of putting on coats and hats lifted the almost electric tension between them, and it was under casual but excited banter that they took the route from the Holzstraße to the Richterstraße. But under the large chestnut tree a few houses from number 18, Karl came to a halt and in the safety of the deepblack shadows he cupped her face in his hands. "Tomorrow at this time we might already be in Paris."

Her eyes beamed back at him. "I can scarce believe it, you know that? Paris..." Her voice dreamt away, but she shook herself back to the present. "Thank you for taking me along, Karl. Thank you so much!"

He smiled – that shy smile of his that she loved so much. "My pleasure." A soft kiss on her forehead. "I'm not sure what time I'll be able to get away, but I hope I'll be able to pick you up sometime early in the afternoon, okay?"

"Okay." She pulled him in for good long _real_ kiss, but he resisted.

"I believe Paris is already going to your head." He forced a chuckle into his voice. "We don't do this in public, remember? Everybody knows you here."

She pouted a little as she let go of him. "I hate it when you play the part of the voice of reason, you know that?"

He placed a quick kiss on her nose in consolation. "Good night, Maryse. I hope you'll have pleasant dreams."

The darkness hid her meaningful grin. "You bet I will!" One last quick kiss for the night, and then he watched her cover the last twenty meters or so to her house until she was safely inside.

* * *

"Sooo, you're going to Paris, Karl?" Schultz said as he perused through the letter. "Paris... with wine, women, song..."

Langenscheidt laughed a little.

"But I didn't know you had an uncle who was a general?" He winked. "I'll have to remember to treat you with more respect from now on!" He gestured to the Kommandantur. "You better go and show this to the Kommandant, so he can give you a pass."

Langenscheidt accepted the letter back from him. "But, Sergeant..." he started timidly.

"Yes?"

"Do you... do you think he will let me go?"

"Of course he will. Nothing to worry about!" He leaned over confidentially. "Whenever a general – _any_ general – tells Kommandant Klink what to do, he just sits up and wags his tail!" Schultz laughed boisterously at his own joke. "Now in you go. Can't keep your uncle the General waiting!"

Nervously, Corporal Langenscheidt went up the steps, knocked on the door and entered at Fräulein Hilda's, "Herein."

"Yes, Corporal?"

He felt the familiar blush overtake him. "I um... I need to... to see the K-Kommandant. Kommandant Klink," he stammered.

She nodded primly. "Go right on in, Corporal."

Another knock, and a few seconds later he came to attention for Kommandant Klink. Who hardly looked up from his paperwork.

"Yes, yes, what is it, Langenscheidt."

Langenscheidt gulped audibly. "Herr Kommandant... Begging the Kommandant's pardon, b-but... I met my uncle Horst yesterday, and..."

"And what? Get to the point, Langenscheidt."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. Herr Kommandant, he wants me to come to Paris with him."

"To Paris? Impossible. You have your duties here; you cannot be spared. You're away more than enough as it is. Dismissed!"

"B-b-but he s-said it's of great military v-value. His mission, I mean. Maybe if you read his letter, Herr Kommandant...?"

"What letter?"

Langenscheidt handed it to him, and bit his lip as the Kommandant quickly perused its contents. "Sehr geehrter Kommandant Klink, ladeeda, ladeeda... to release my nephew Corporal Karl Langenscheidt to me until further notice... Until further notice? Ha! Ladeeda... ladeeda... ladeeda... to serve as my personal chauffeur during a top secret mission in Paris. Great military value etcetera, etcetera, signed General Horst Goetze, Wehrmacht. Well, I..." Suddenly his eyes flew back to the paper. "General? And you're his _nephew_? My dear Langenscheidt, but _of course_ you may accompany him to Paris for as long as he needs you! Ha ha – of course you realized I was only joking before, didn't you? No, you go with your uncle the General and look after him to the best of your abilities. And remember – a General's aide does not slouch! So pull those shoulders back, back straight and chin up! Yes – that's the spirit! Show those Frenchies the _real_ Corporal Langenscheidt!"

Immediately, Langenscheidt sagged back into his usual lankiness, and with an exasperated sigh, Klink waved him away. "Perhaps we should let your uncle deal with that. Here is your pass. Now get out of here and let me get on with my paperwork."

Karl saluted dutifully before retreating out of the room. And he was still biting back his grin when he met Udo at the bottom of the stairs.

"Schultz said you're going to Paris, you lucky dog." He did nothing to keep the envy out of his voice. "I wish I could go with you."

Karl shrugged. "You could always get yourself an uncle who's a general."

"Hm. Not much chance there," Udo muttered. "But you will send us a postcard, won't you?"

"Of course. But I have to get going. Keep up the no-escape record for me, will you?"

Udo grimaced. "I will. Have fun!"

And as Karl crossed the compound, he made a mental note that Corporal Langenscheidt would have to stay in Paris quite a bit longer than the time Danzig needed to complete Colonel Hogan's assignment, plus the time his little vacation would take. For Udo was smart enough to get suspicious if _both_ these friends left and returned around the same time...

* * *

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_Author's notes: _

_And those are the preparations for a part in the story that I've been looking forward to write ever since I came up with the idea of Danzig and Langenscheidt being one and the same. Poor Karl is going to get himself into *so* much trouble in Paris... but at least it'll provide us with a hilarious tale as we watch him struggle to keep his multiple lives straight - because they just keep diverging themselves! _

_Anyone dare to make an educated guess as to what episode inspired the upcoming folly?_

_And yes, before I forget, the chapter above contains some references to the episode _Tanks for the Memories_, written by Laurence Marks. And no, the girl in the opening scene was *not* played by same actress who portrayed Ridinghood later on in the series. But with the make-up techniques Karl had taught her, it easily could have been her anyway. _

_And something totally different. If I may be so bold to ask – is there a particular reason why many of you reviewers latched onto chapter 29 even after chapter 30 was posted? To be honest, I was afraid the opposite would happen, since their posting was less than two days apart. But is it perhaps more interesting to read TV episodes from Karl's point of view? Or did the title/subject "Fear" scare you off, or...? Or were many of you simply too busy with real life to read two long chapters in one go? (Guilty as charged myself as well – as happy as I was to see it, I still haven't read Jinzle's update (that she apparently wrote and published at my request) on Frau Linkmeyer's story...)_

_Feedback on that question (PM or in a review) highly appreciated!_


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